The Caravan

Not much sleep last evening.
Just outside the Great Gate, along some two pasangs of the Viktel Aria, the caravan of Habib of Tor was already moving as tor-tu-gor made it's first golden rent in the horizon. It had set itself up late last afternoon and spent the evening afield, anticipating travel this morning. The forward wagons, which arrive at each day's destination far in advance of the rest to raise the tents and light the cooking fires, were well on their way as many of us scheduled to travel in the middle and end portions of the line were just getting roused for the day. The caravan of Habib, it is said, is a city unto itself. It is a city that has no walls and is often not in the same location on two subsequent evenings, but a city nonetheless. I suppose it has a Home Stone, even, as men of the south are as Gorean as the lot of us North of the Cartius. They speak the Language.
At the moment, Tasta is up on the second floor, encouraging the women to expedience. A bit early for her to be carrying on like that and I assume I will hear of it from a resident of the alley or two as we make our way out of the Anbar, but you cannot deny the utility of a trained sleen.
It feels good to know I will be sleeping beneath the stars this evening.

Last evening was spent in the Great Square near the city's Central Cylinder. I am fond of that area of the city, where a good mix of the populace congregate with little regard to caste or class. Oh, many are still much concerned over their personal dignitas, but on the whole people tend to mingle freely with one another. It is a place for the founding and unfounding of gossip, the commencement of business both official and otherwise, and a place to see others and be seen. I managed to accomplish all three before turning in for the night.
I've left Mathor in charge of things as of today. With properties in the Anbar and the Theater District, he mentioned taking on a few more men to round out his staff. The Office of the Magistracy, of course, comes with a complement of regulars and I could request a sentry or two, but Mathor declined the notion.
"The climate of a City can change," he told me in a bout of uncharacteristic verbosity.