"At least I do not defile myself by serving a swine of a ferengi," Habib jeered, moving closer to her.
"My master may be an unbeliever," she said contemptuously, "but unlike you, he is an honorable man." Lifting the waterskin, she started to walk around the camel driver.
Habib stepped into her path. "Khilburn is a ferengi swine, and serving him makes you a flea on a swine's arse."
Juliet regarded him steadily while she weighed the situation. She was neither helpless nor terrified, but she would rather avoid a fight with a dangerous lout who loved brawling and hated anyone who was different. Unfortunately, it appeared that avoidance might not be possible.
Provoked by her silence, the camel driver snarled, "What's the matter, little boy, frightened of me? Maybe you should call your ferengi to protect you." He spat on the ground. "You are gutless sons of plague dogs, both of you."
With a mental sigh, Juliet resigned herself to the inevitable. If she didn't deal with Habib now, she would undoubtedly have to do so later. And while he might outweigh her by forty pounds, he was stupid. "The Tuareg are warriors," she said with cool deliberation. "We do not soil our hands with tale-bearing camel drivers who smell of dung."
Her words were all the trigger Habib needed. With a roar, he launched himself at her. And as his hand swept through the darkness, a shaft of moonlight slid along the blade of his descending dagger.
* * *
Ross was preparing to roll up in his blanket, though he would not actually do so until Juliet returned from the well. As unobtrusively as possible, he kept a protective eye on her, and he suspected that she did the same for him. They were like a couple of maiden aunts with each other.
He was about to remove his boots when he heard a shout from the direction of the well. "Khilburn, come quickly!"
He froze. Was that Juliet's voice? No, it sounded like Murad. Yet, for no rational reason, he was absolutely certain that Juliet was in danger. He leapt to his feet and pulled a burning brand from the fire to use as a torch.
Saleh had been drowsing in his blanket, but he snapped to wakefulness as other voices were raised. "Trouble, Khilburn?"
"Perhaps," Ross said tersely. "I'll find out."
Moving as quickly as possible over the broken ground, he made his way to the well, which was attracting a growing crowd of men, several holding crude torches like his own. He could not see what they were staring at, but he recognized the ugly, unmistakable sound of metal shrieking against metal. Knives.
His blood like ice, Ross pushed his way through the bystanders to find a torch-illuminated killing ground. Wind-tossed flames threw wild, erratic shadows across the clearing as two crouching figures circled each other, daggers ready in their hands. It was an eerie echo of the scene that had taken place earlier with the Khivan officer, but darker and more violent.
It was also Ross's worst fear come true. No, not the worst, for Juliet seemed unhurt. But even as Ross watched, Habib stabbed his long knife up toward her heart. With a movement quicker than the eye could follow, Juliet blocked his attack with her own blade, then disengaged, the tip of her dagger nicking the camel driver's wrist.
For a moment Ross was paralyzed with fear and horror so profound that his vision darkened around the edges, eliminating everything but the image of Juliet and the danger that threatened her. Instinctively he started to step forward with the intention of throwing himself between the combatants. Then a firm hand grasped his forearm, halting him in his tracks. Eyes dazed, he looked down to find Saleh beside him.
The old man said softly, "No, Khilburn. Interference will increase her danger."
Ross very nearly wrenched away, but he had just enough sense left to realize that Saleh was right. If he disturbed Juliet's concentration, he might sign her death warrant. But standing helplessly by was the most excruciating experience of his life.
Juliet was much faster than Habib, and deftly fended off all the camel driver's attacks while she waited with slit-eyed ferocity for the right opening. She had thrown off her mantle and in her dark robe and tagelmoust she was a shadow warrior, eerie, silent, and lethal. Habib was not silent, but snarled a string of insults and filthy oaths as he darted and slashed, his eyes shining with blood lust.
Watching her controlled, graceful movements reminded Ross of something he'd almost forgotten: as a girl, Juliet had learned fencing with her brothers. When she discovered that Ross was also skilled at swordplay, she had suggested that they might fence with each other, but he had flatly refused; he could not imagine brandishing a weapon at his wife even in sport.
But she was good, damned good, at the related skill of knife fighting. Taller than Habib, she had a better reach and was consistently able to ward off his attacks. In some strange way, Ross felt as if he were linked into her awareness, sharing her fierce focus, anticipating her enemy's moves as she glided wary and light-footed over the broken ground.