A few years ago I read the novel Tuareg by the Spanish writer Alberto Vázquez Figueroa, a story about one of the last princes of an ancient people who crosses the most sultry, arid and terrifying part of the desert, the white salt core of the Sahara. Wrapped from head to toe in indigo robes, lean, wiry and lithe as a reed, girded with a knife and a battered rifle, he was the epitome of restrained strength. He spoke little, and his face had long since forgotten the taste of a smile.
I am now the guide preparing to guide you through the fine sands of quantum magic. Therefore, I am obliged to introduce you to the ancient rules of this art...
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