At sight of the massed horsemen, the grassy plain--a sight never yet beheld by him--and the distant golden, glimmering walls, a look of desperation flashed into his triple-scarred face.
The whole experience of the past days had been a Jehannum of incomprehensible terrors.

Now that the climax was at hand, strength nearly deserted him even to stand.

But the proud Arab blood in him flared up again as he was thrust forward, confronting Bara Miyan.

His head snapped up, his eyes glittered like a caged eagle's, the fine, high nostrils dilated; and there he stood, captive but unbeaten, proud even in this hour of death.
Bara Miyan made no great speaking.

All he asked was: "Art thou, indeed, that Shaytan called Abd el Rahman, the Reviler ?" The desert Sheik nodded with arrogant admission.
Bara Miyan turned and clapped his hands.