Page 103 - Microsoft Word - FANG EMPIRE - NOVEL.docx

“We are few but we are legion!” Daka said to Zuba.

“We are the ghosts of the Sahara!” GoGo shouted. “No prisoners!”

She pointed her sword toward the caravan and they thundered forward.

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Armed escorts rode at a leisurely pace alongside the camel caravan to protect the precious

provisions. The journey had been long and Timbuktu was so remote that they were tired and

saddle sore. A Moroccan soldier and a mercenary who rode in the rear, talked to pass the time.

“This Berber saddle is the enemy of my ass,” said the mercenary.

“They are horsemen. Their asses are calloused,” said the soldier.

“You have knowledge of a Berber’s ass?”

“Only what their women have told me in delight as they kissed the cheeks of mine.”

The mercenary laughed. “I am not a frontiersman,” he said. “I don’t like these desert

convoys. Too damn long for a man to be on a horse. And the Sahara is a hive of banditry. The

Rhunes would take your testicles if they could sell them. It’s a dreg duty this Timbuktu haul.

Swords against serpents in the night . . . why are we forbidden to arm ourselves with arquebus or

the new flintlocks?”

“Ramoth fears firearms,” whispered the soldier, as if the man himself could

overhear. “The sultan made it a crime to carry them beyond Taghaza.”

“He fears them because everybody hates him. It would be far too easy to do in the bastard

from a distance,” said the mercenary, narrowing his eyes.

“Yea, he is surely a target for a lead ball after he impaled seven guards when the queen

escaped,” said the soldier.

“And Judar Pasha allowed it?” said the mercenary.