At thought of the death-angel standing nigh, his heart quaked; but rage and hate inspired him, and he muttered: "Fire to your bellies, broiling in white flame! Fuel of Jehannum, may Eblis be your bed, an unhappy couch! Spawn of Shaytan (Satan), boiling water to cool your throats! At Al Hakkat (judgment day) may the _jinnee_ fly away with you!" "To work, men!" cried the Master.

"There is great work to do!" As if in answer to his command, a blustering, hot buffet of wind roared down with amazing suddenness, filling the dark air with a stinging drive of sand.

The fire by the beach flailed into long tongues of flame, throwing black shadows along the side of the wady.
No stars were now visible.

From empty spaces, a soughing tumult leaped forth; and on the instant a furious gust of fine, cutting particles whirled all about, thicker than driven snow in a northern blizzard.
"Iron, O thou ill-omened one!" cried Rrisa, with the ancient invocation against the sand-storm.

He stretched out his forefinger, making the sign of protection.