THE BOY,SEKHEMAR, stood in the small gan:len, Sandaled feet planted apart, sword clutched in his sweaty right hand, a shield of hammered brass over his left ann. His heart pounded, every sense alert, his eyes studying the dark comers behind the shrubberies and trees. He sniffed the air,smelled the night-blooming desert flowers. It seemed peaceful and serene, but he knewattack would come.
He heard a slight rustling in the high, decorative grass behind his right shoulder but gave no sign. He struggled to keep his breathing slow and even, but his body tensed, like a trap, waiting for the right sound to put him in motion.
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