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Updated: May 8, 2025
There are silences as sweet!" "Ready for anything! If I weaken, tie me on the camel!" There are camels and camels more kinds than there are of horses. The Bishareen of the Sudan is not a bad beast, but compared to the Bikaniri there are no other desert mounts worth a moment's consideration.
Fleet as the wind, silent as its own shadow, enduring as the long hot- season of its home, the trained Bikaniri swings into sandy distances with a gait that is a gallop really the only saddle-beast of all that lifts his four feet from the ground at once, seeming to spurn the very laws of gravity.
They are favored folk who come by first-class Bikaniri camels, for the better sort are rare, hard held to, and only to be bought up patiently by twos and ones. Fourteen of them in one string, each fit that instant for a distance-race with death itself, was perhaps the best proof possible of Yasmini's influence on the country-side.
The camels, with Yasmini and her women already mounted, were kneeling in the darkness outside the house of Mukhum Dass. "Come!" called Yasmini. "Hurry!" Dick kissed his wife waved his hand to Yasmini helped Tess on to the last camel in the kneeling line and they were off, the camel-men not needing to shout to make those Bikaniri racers rise and start.
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