Nusair ibn Samman’s eyes widened at the sight that greeted them. There was no sign of the evil Estanash who’d so plagued the Badawi for ages—but there was Murrah, apparently unharmed by her captor except for chafed wrists and ankles and total exhaustion. And there was treasure, mountains of it piled against the wall, its sum surpassing even the greediest dreams of a desert nomad. It gleamed and glittered in the torchlight—coins and jewels and beautiful objects made from precious materials, as well as packs of exotic fabrics, decanters of wine, boxes of dates and figs, and bottles of precious olive oil that were sealed as fresh as new.
Prince Ahmad welcomed the Badawi to the cave with a formal bow. “Estanash, your enemy, is dead,” he proclaimed. “His treasure is mine by right of conquest.
