the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

scimitar at his belt, and was busily rooting through Mukhlis’s packs,
discarding unwanted items in the sand.
‘No,’ cried Mukhlis, seeing a painted stone fall to the dirt. It had been
given to him by his daughter as a good-luck gift on the day he had left,
and the sight of it tossed to the ground by the robber was too much for
him. He pulled away from Bayhas’s grip and rushed to Long Hair, who
moved to meet him with a smile, then felled him with a vicious punch to
the windpipe. The three robbers roared with laughter as Mukhlis writhed
and choked in the dirt.
‘What is it?’ jeered Long Hair, bending to him. He saw where Mukhlis
was looking and picked up the stone, reading the words Nada had
painted on. ‘ “Good luck, Papa.” Is this it? Is this what’s making you so
brave all of a sudden, Papa?’
Mukhlis reached for the stone, desperate to have it, but Long Hair
batted his hand away with disdain, then rubbed the stone on his
backside – laughing more as Mukhlis howled in outrage – and tossed it
into the well.
‘Plop,’ he mocked.
‘You …’ started Mukhlis. ‘You …’
‘Tie his legs,’ he heard from behind him. Bayhas threw Long Hair the
rope and came round, dropping to his haunches and placing the tip of
his knife close to Mukhlis’s eyeball.
‘Where were you heading, Papa?’ he asked.
‘To Damascus,’ lied Mukhlis.
Bayhas sliced his cheek with the knife and he screamed in pain.
‘Where were you going?’ he demanded again.
‘His cloth is from Masyaf,’ said Long Hair, who was winding the rope