Habib of Tor

I remember Habib of Tor.

It has been, perhaps, five years since I last enjoyed the hospitality of his caravan. He was passing through my glorious city en route to points north; Venna, Lara and Thentis amongst them. He is a Merchant. He is also a charlatan and a rogue. When he makes his infrequent journeys northward, he carries four things from his native, desert lands. He brings first and foremost the Red Salts of Kasra. Though most salts from the Mines of Klima are white, certain of those mines yield a red salt, due to the inclusion of ferrous oxide in its composition. Needless to say, this novelty is popular in points north of the Cartius River. I cannot recall that it adds or subtracts anything from the actual taste of the salt, but it is a pleasing aesthetic for some supper tables. He also brings a good deal of dates, pressed into bricks. I remember from his previous journey the willingness of peasants to trade their grain alcohols for these convenient food stores. A third thing are the famed rugs of Tor, assured, he promises, to have been woven by neither slaves nor children. These rugs are the product of proud craftsmen of that region, their work dating back hundreds of years. For one who knows the intricacies of such things, it is possible to tell the House in which a given rug was woven simply by patterns and prevalence of certain colors. Some colors are used by one House and one House only. To attempt to use these colors outside the Houses that traditionally use them is considered fraudulent, a capital offense. The fourth thing Habib brings from the Tahari to points north, of course, is women. Deeply tanned, dark-eyed beauties. He brings these things north for goods that are difficult to obtain in his desert home.
"You will travel with the caravan of Habib?" he asked with a smile that was far too white to be trusted. "Delightful. Most excellent."
"It brings my heart no shortage of joy to see you delighted thusly," I responded. It is difficult not to become competitively verbose in the presence of such a man.
"I assure you, Szol of the Poets," he nodded, lifting a bejeweled finger for emphasis, "I feel as if I might burst with the overabundance of the very joy with which you find yourself blessed."
"You are laying it on a bit thick, Habib," I informed him.
"The bit about bursting, eh?" he asked.
"Rather over the top," I confirmed.
"It worked rather well with the Administrator of Turia three summers past," he assured me.
"Turians are an indulgent, self-congratulating lot," I retorted.
"Excellent observation," he nodded. I think he was taking mental notes. Habib the Merchant is a businessman of the first order. His entire life seems to consist of one transaction after the other. Despite that, he has been a good friend to me, if somewhat absent.
We spoke for another ahn or so. I endeavored not to hear of his latest exploits. Such knowledge can be incriminating. He is a good friend and a businessman of the first order, but the business of mercantile exchange is not always friendly. On the surface, it is about equitable transactions between two parties. That is the economic theory portion of it. In practice, however, there are few transactions that are entirely equitable. It is not so difficult to understand, really. If all transactions were entirely equitable, no man would be wealthy relative to his neighbor. That is not to say we endeavor to cheat one another. That is just to say that one must understand the concept of supply & demand if one ever wishes to accumulate wealth. The man who has an ample supply of what others demand has an opportunity to thrive in business. If I am digressing, it is due to conversing with Habib, which always seems to be economically-centered. I mentioned to him the desire of Phineahas to travel with his caravan to Venna and perhaps further and it started another round of verbosity which I would rather not repeat, for sake of brevity and for fear that I am not certain I could transcribe it all accurately. Suffice it to say, he is rather elated to have the company of Phineahas, a Story Teller, Fishmonger and Actor of the Great Stage as part of his caravan.
"Does he have stories about outlaw women?" he inquired.
"Panther Girls?" I asked.
"Yes, yes, Panther Girls!" he smiled.
"I would think so," I nodded.
"What of Pirates?" he asked.
"Certainly. I heard a tale just the other night of a Tuchuk in Port Kar," I confirmed.
"In Port Kar?" he asked, uncertain he heard me right.
"With a Kaiila," I nodded.
"I will have to hear that one," he said, already turning the possibilities of what such a tale might contain.