He gave Basbusa a little more slack, allowing her to stretch her neck out and add an inch or two to her stride; letting her step up the pace but still saving her, because it was a long race and he didn’t know how much effort he’d need from her. He felt her rocking under him, planting her feet just so, as if she knew exactly what she had to do. She started to overtake a small grouping of soft-soled Nafud camels ridden by Anayzah tribesmen in their blue-black bishts. She was galloping easily with plenty of reserve left, when he noticed Bandar sweeping ahead along the sideline.

Bandar’s head was down and he was flailing Bashum with his whip. The big brown camel was beautiful as he struck out with those long legs that seemed to go on forever, moving as if the other camels were standing still and holding so level and smooth that it gave the Scorpion a hollow feeling just watching him. Bashum looked as if he were prancing on parade with enough left to do it all day and yet he was passing camels one after another.

The crowd was delirious, calling “Bashum, Bashum” and the Scorpion suddenly felt his insides turn to water. He was in a race and if he didn’t do something in a hurry, Bandar would be too far ahead to head off.

He started to angle Basbusa towards the sideline for a run at Bashum, who was already a good twenty meters ahead. As he raised his whip to urge Basbusa on, he felt it jerked out of his hand. As he whirled towards the right, some instinct caused him to duck, saving his life as a bullet whizzed by his ear.

The moustached Ruallai had come up behind him to within a yard and had used his own whip to yank the Scorpion’s away. He was aiming a pistol, the barrel covered by the bulbous snout of a silencer, at the Scorpion’s head.

The Scorpion had barely an instant left. Only luck had saved him. There was only one thing he could do. Any distance between them would be fatal, he thought. He swerved Basbusa into the path of the Ruallai’s she-camel.