The camels were all heavily laden with trade goods, and teams of stout
oxen stood patiently in front of great two-wheeled carts, accompanied
by attendants almost without number.
Under heavy guard entered also a troupe of exotic, half-veiled,
half-naked courtesans accoutered in their virgin colors and finery
(hence their perpetual jesting and self-mockery, for they be no
virgins), seated each upon her own soft-looking little burro. Many
fierce guards accompanied the line of travelers, wielding shining
swords and broad hide-covered shields.
With the gates swung wide, the caravan began it's long drawn-out entry
into the great inner walled compound of the House of Rababull,
accompanied by the loudly proclaimed boastings and pronouncements of
the noble Camel Master's crier, and thereby setting up such a din as to
put all the House astir. It seemed that everyone had stopped to watch,
and all work fell idle as more and more paused and came to gawk.
Master Rababull had girded himself in his finest robes and was by now
in a thoroughly good humor as he marched hither and yon across the
front courtyard, puffed up with unabashed conceit as his servants
voiced loud and shamelessly their praise and admiration for both the
Master and his important visitors.
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