Fallon’s spirits rose. It had been some time since he had been able to afford a ride, and Kastambang’s office lay in the commercial Kharju District, over on the far side of the city. First they wound through the odorous alleys of fee A’vaz; then through the section of the northern part of the Izandu. They emerged from this region to pass between the glitter of the theaters of the Sahi on their left and the somber bustle of the industrial Izandu on their right. Smoke arose from busy forges, and the racket of hammers, drills, files, saws, and other tools mingled in a pervasive susurration. Then they clop-clopped along a series of broad avenues which carried them through a little park, across which the wind from the steppes sent little whirls of dust dancing. At last they plunged into the teeming magnificence of the Kharju with its shops and houses of commerce. As they angled toward the southeast, the city’s one hill, crowned by the ancient castle of the kings of Balhib, rose ahead of them.
