The Hawk of Egypt 
 
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hawk of Egypt, by Joan 
Conquest This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and 
with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away 
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included 
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Title: The Hawk of Egypt 
Author: Joan Conquest 
Release Date: April 27, 2005 [EBook #15721] 
Language: English 
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE 
HAWK OF EGYPT *** 
 
Produced by Al Haines 
 
[Frontispiece: Trembling from head to foot the girl stood before the 
tent which no foot but his had trod.] 
[Transcriber's note: the frontispiece page was too badly damaged to 
produce a usable image.]
THE HAWK OF EGYPT 
 
By 
JOAN CONQUEST 
 
Author of "Desert Love", "Leonie of the Jungle." 
 
FRONTISPIECE BY 
G. W. GAGE 
 
NEW YORK 
THE MACAULAY COMPANY 
 
Copyright, 1922, 
By The Macaulay Company 
 
Printed in the United States of America 
 
"IN LOVE AND GRATITUDE TO THE DEAREST OF WOMEN 
'MIVES' MY MOTHER" 
 
THE HAWK OF EGYPT
Author's Note: All names in this book are fictitious. 
 
[Transcriber's note: A number of words in this book are Arabic, using 
characters that require Unicode to render properly. Refer to the 
transcriber's note at the end of this book for more information.] 
 
THE HAWK OF EGYPT 
CHAPTER I 
"_For in the days we know not of Did fate begin Weaving the web of 
days that wove Your doom_." 
SWINBURNE. 
". . . allahu akbar--la ilaha--illa 'llah!" 
Across the golden glory of the sky floated the insistent call of the 
muezzin just as Damaris, followed closely by Wellington, her bulldog, 
turned out of the narrow street into the Khan el-Khalili. Shrill and 
sweet, from far and near it came, calling the faithful to prayer, 
impelling merchants to leave their wares, buyers their purchases, 
gossips their chatter, and to turn in the direction of Mecca and offer 
their praise to Allah, who is God. 
As the entire male population of the native quarter knelt, the girl drew 
back beneath an awning of many colours which shaded silken goods 
from the rays of the sun, whilst curious eyes peeped down upon her 
from behind the shelter of the masharabeyeh, the harem lattice of 
finely-carved wood. Yards of silk of every hue lay tumbled inside and 
outside the dukkan or shop in the silk-market; silken scarves, plain and 
embroidered, hung from strings; silk shawls were spread upon Persian 
carpets; a veritable riot of colour against the yellow-white plaster of the 
shop walls, above which flamed the sky, a cloak of blue, embroidered 
in rose and gold and amethyst.
The native women behind the shelter of the wood lattice or the 
yashmak or the all-enveloping barku, talked softly together as they 
watched the beautiful girl who serenely and quite unveiled walked 
amongst men with an animal of surpassing hideousness at her heels. 
She stood with her head uncovered--it is permissible at sunset--and 
with her face lifted, as she listened to the call to prayer, so that a 
sun-ray silting in through the silks blazed down upon the positively red 
curls which rioted all over her head and were of a tone sharper than 
henna, yet many times removed from the shades of red known as 
carrots or ginger. 
Her skin was matte, her mouth crimson, and curved, the teeth perfect, 
and her heavily-lashed eyes of so deep a purple as to appear black. She 
was slim and supple, unencumbered by anything more confining than a 
suspender-belt, a fortnight off her eighteenth birthday and entirely 
lovable in looks, ways and temperament in the eyes of all mankind, 
which includes women. 
The prayer over, and the men again about the business of the hour, she 
enquired her way of the vendor of silks who, having quickly replaced 
his shoes, had as hastily returned to his shop, his heart rejoicing at the 
prospect of perhaps one or two hours' more bargaining--for where is to 
be found the Oriental who knows the value of time? 
Loving animals, Damaris wanted to find that corner near the 
silk-market where can be purchased anything from a camel to a hunting 
cheetah, a greyhound to a falcon. 
It is not wise for European women to saunter about the old Arabian 
quarter unaccompanied, especially if they have been blessed by the 
gods in the ways of looks. Damaris Hethencourt most certainly ought 
not to have been there, but you must perforce follow the path Fate has 
marked out for you, whether it leads through country lanes, or 
Piccadilly, or the Arab quarter of Cairo. 
The vendor of silks salaamed deeply before her beauty and the 
graciousness of her manner, for    
    
		
	
	
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