Ruha was within one hundred yards of the high rock when she heard the sonorous tones of Ajaman's amarat. She looked up in time to see him drop his horn, then nock an arrow and loose it at something near the base of the pillar.

As she watched her husband attack, Ruha felt guilty for her panic. Ajaman was a Bedine warrior who had grown to manhood in the desert. He had honed his prowess by raiding other tribes and by defending his own camels against those who came to steal from his herds. Doubting his ability to defend himself almost seemed a violation of wifely duty.

Ajaman nocked a second arrow and fired again. Ruha stopped running, realizing that her presence would only disturb her husband. From the sands just beyond El Ma'ra, a brilliant flash erupted and shot toward the top of the pillar, momentarily blinding the young wife. A thunderous clap crashed over the dunes, nearly sweeping her off her feet.

Ruha's vision cleared just as Ajaman's limp body tumbled off El Ma'ra. It landed in the sand at the base of the pillar, then lay motionless in the moonlight.

"Ajaman!" Ruha gasped. For a long moment she stood motionless, knowing she had been right to fear for her husband. Ajaman had fallen, not to a raider's arrow, but to something no Bedine could shoot from his bow-a bolt of light.

Ruha shook her head and rushed toward her husband, her mind functioning on two tracks at once. Ruha longed to take Ajaman in her arms, to hear him speak her name. Rationally, she knew this would do no good, for if the flash had not killed him, the hundred-foot fall certainly had. Still, she could not-would not-believe it until she kissed his lifeless lips.