Unbearable heat... And boundless space... Regardless of how much a person might turn their gaze, they will only see yellow land and sand dunes. The thirstier they become, the more fantasies of water will take root, in un-quenching mirages.

Could humans live here?

Once that question has been asked, they would will be surprised to see golden tents pitched next to each other. They are arranged in an interesting way, and around them are some dry trees.

In front of these tents are bright flags with an emblem that looks like a glowing sun. All this suggests that this place has an interesting story.

When you stare with your gaze all over the place, you will glimpse a young man who is competing valiantly with a huge man. He is muscular, agile, and he appears to be in his late forties. His skin is brown, from his features you realize that his origins are not from this place, but exotic. His fighting skills get your attention and make the skill would surprise anyone. He is adept at fighting and dodging a sword, and his thighs are wrapped in leather belts in which his daggers are fixed.

As for the young man, he looks alert and aware. From his good looks and careful gestures it is easy to realize that he is significant among his people. Despite his duel with the black coach baring only one sword, he did not befall a single injury – a compliment to his speed of retreat, and attack. He impressed everyone with his skills despite his young age, and as such it is hard to believe that he is only in his second decade of life. This well formed youth has all the women flirting with him, drawn to his soft brown hair and eyes that are full of wisdom. His beard did not go beyond the limits of his chin, a style most appreciated by the adoring ladies.

The clashing of swords forced the guard to raise his voice, calling, “Mr. Mohab. Sir Mohab.”

The coach immediately stopped the duel as Mohab lost his balance, but he soon regained it and shouted back at the guard.”

What's wrong with you? Say what you have!”

“Forgive me, sir. Your father invites you to a meeting of tribal dignitaries.”

He resented the very sentiment and stabbed the earth with his long sword:

“But I haven't finished training yet!”

The coach approached and leaned towards him, took the sheath, removed the sword from the dirt and returned it to his sheath.

He said, “A brave knight must be wise and patient. Don't forget sir, that you are the only son of Salama, and you have to always be his right hand. “

He took his sword while grumbling.

“And is it my fault, Dirgham, if my father is the leader of the tribe?” He felt that his grumbling would cease soon, but he continued, “Well, well, well? I'm going, and when I'm done, we'll continue training.”

He walked reluctantly with a drag on his heels, until he arrived at his father's hospitality tent. The tent was famous for its height and golden in color so that it is easily distinguished from the rest. As always, it’s heavy fabric doors remain hanging without invitation. It is closed and guarded by two very strong guards. At this he realized that the meeting is of great importance, so he checked his clothes and shakes off the fencing dusts , then fixed his outfit and entered the tent.

All the men in the council welcomed him, and his father indicated to him to sit next to him, which he did. Following that, he checked the audience at a glance, there was no guest among them, the same dignitaries as usual were seated there. Their number did not exceed the fingers of the hands, but they were wise.

Boredom always sneaked into Mohab's heart whenever he heard their discussion and their addressing of issues – at least, any that were not devoid of the prediction of doom, the approaching depletion of food and the importance of searching for a neighboring oasis.