With a call of "_Ya Latif!_" (O Merciful One!) he had begun the performance of his ceremony, with rigid exactness.

He ended with another prostration and the usual drawing down of the hands over the face.

Then he arose, took up his javelin again, and with a clear conscience--since now his rites had all been fulfilled--cried aloud: "Now, Master, I am ready for the work of helping Azrael, the death-angel, separate the souls and bodies of these Shiah heretics!" A sudden howling of a jackal startled Rrisa.

He quivered and stood peering into the night, where now the unmistakable hum of an approaching sand-storm was drawing near.

His superstitious soul trembled with the old belief of his people that creatures of the dog breed can see Azrael, invisible to human eyes.