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from a steep embankment with the city walls high above.  Below the opening however, a drop of several yards, ended in a vast cesspool.  Lyse gazed warily down at the murk, then looked to him.
    "Now what?"
    Kismet was already beginning to climb along the face of the cliff.  Lyse attempted to follow, but discovered that the statue she had risked life and limb to safeguard now encumbered her movements.
    "Just leave it!" shouted Kismet.
    She shook her head, then grasped the front of her T-shirt and untucked it from her jeans.  She placed the statue in the makeshift sling of fabric and pulled the hem of the garment up until she could hold it between clenched teeth.  Only then did she begin looking around the edge of the tunnel in search of a handhold.  Her delay was costly.  She had only reached the perimeter of the cesspool when their pursuers appeared at the opening of the sewer pipe.  Sliding down the steep face, she dropped at Kismet's side.  The weight of golden statue had stretched her shirt so that it almost covered her otherwise bare midriff.  Kismet shook his head in mock despair then silently led their flight out across the desert sands. 
    The beams of their pursuers' lights danced like glowing bats in the darkness behind them.  He was amazed at the relentless effort put forth to run them down, but why they were being chased by these foreigners, he could not imagine.
    He chose to stay within sight of the old city's walls.  Even at the dawn of a new millennium, people resided in the wilderness outside the city as they had for thousands of years before, living in tents and joining together in small ad hoc communities.  A column of smoke rising against the twilit sky revealed some manner of civilization directly ahead.  Kismet switched the MagLite off, hoping camouflage among the shadows would conceal them, and guided Lyse forward.
    A chaotic barrier of wind-sculpted boulders blocked the way to the source of the smoke.  As he threaded through he spied a cluster of tents, arranged around a large fire in a clearing not far ahead.  A score of camels were tethered to a stake driven into the ground near the edge of the camp.  Kismet grinned triumphantly; this was their ticket out of trouble.  He grabbed hold of Lyse's elbow and dragged her into the clearing.
    The camp belonged to nomadic Tuaregs, a tribe of Berber wanderers who for thousands of years had roamed the ancient caravan routes in robes dyed with indigo. Kismet knew that they were formidable adversaries when threatened and proceeded with due caution.
    A few dark figures moved between the tents, but none seemed to take note of the foul smelling pair that crept toward the camp.  Although he and Lyse were upwind, Kismet figured that the nomads had already grown accustomed to the stink of the nearby cesspool, and thus would not detect the stench they emitted.
    A sentinel had been stationed near the camels; a young man Kismet presumed, though his alasho , the traditional swath of indigo fabric that served as both a turban and a veil for male Tuaregs, concealed anything that might have given his age away.  The unsuspecting youth was huddled against the cold of the desert night.
    Reasoning that the scarf limited the sentinel's field of view, Kismet gestured for Lyse to stay hidden then set out to flank the watch-post.  The camels began snorting as he approached, and he immediately dropped flat on the sand.  The young man noted the behavior of the herd, but could not comprehend the reason for their agitation.  He nervously glanced around, fearful of an intruder, but was unable to distinguish Kismet's dark, earth-colored clothing.  Moving slowly and stealthily, Kismet crept behind the guard.  He reached out and tapped him on the shoulder, and as the veiled head turned to look, Kismet struck.
    The blow stunned the young man for only a moment, but it was enough for Kismet to leap forward and seize hold of his alasho .  A yank on the fabric loosened the