There are cities not built to be lived in… but to decide who is allowed to pass.
After a full month of continuous travel, a light appeared before them one they did not recognize.
It was not the glow of fire, nor the burn of a setting sun.
It was the light of a city.
Al-Uboor stretched across two opposing hills, like arms of clay and stone opening the road to the East. Its houses were tightly packed, its walls low yet long, and its palms rose above them like silent sentinels. From afar, it seemed to belong neither to West nor East standing instead between them, a witness to all who passed.
Merchants always said:
"Whoever does not pass through Al-Uboor has never truly known the road."
When the men saw the movement at its gates, the beasts filling its roads, the dust mingled with the scent of spices, they knew they had entered another world one measured not by strength, but by cunning and vigilance.
Aram spoke calmly as he studied the walls:
"We won't enter together.
We go in small groups, and we meet only at the Grand Market before sunset.
A city that sees everything should not see too much at once."
No one objected.
The decision was logical and final.
Aram entered first with Najjar, two travelers who drew no attention.
An hour later came Seham, Marana, and Riman.
Then Nabalian and Tavar.
Last were Solan and Karem.
And Al-Uboor was alive.
The voices of merchants collided with the ringing of iron at the blacksmiths' forges.
Women calling out as they sold hot bread blended with the scent of cumin and saffron.
Caravans arrived… others departed.
News was traded like goods.
A city that never slept because sleep there could mean a lost opportunity.
The Market of Al-Uboor was among the greatest in the region.
Aram saw rows of:
southern perfume sellers,
sword and spear smiths,
salt merchants,
vendors of colored fabrics,
basket weavers,
and camel herders whose beasts had come from the deep desert.
Everything moved:
people,
animals,
money,
and secrets.
Aram and Najjar sat in a small stall at the edge of the market.
Its owner was a very old man, his thick white beard framing a face lined like desert maps. He sipped tea slowly, as if weighing time itself on his tongue.
He studied them for a long moment, then smiled faintly.
"You are not from here… the mountains are still on your shoulders."
Without preamble, Aram said:
"We want to go East."
The old man laughed a short laugh, known to one who had seen many try their luck.
"Then you seek survival.
Whoever walks East without a guide is lost before seeing half the desert."
He tapped his staff toward the far end of the market, where a man stood beside a group of camels.
"That man his name is Argus.
He knows the desert as a rope knows the hand that holds it.
He has led many caravans, and those who returned did so with him at their head.
If you want to cross the East… take him.
And take camels as well."
Aram asked,
"How many will we need?"
Without hesitation, the old man replied:
"At least eight camels if you are more than ten.
And water remember this
water past the midpoint is more precious than gold."
Aram thanked him and left with Najjar.
Elsewhere in the market, the group worked in disciplined silence.
Nabalian and Tavar purchased sturdy water skins, small knives, and extra ropes.
Solan and Karem stood at a heavy-rope stall. Solan chose ropes for rocky crossings, while Karem bought flammable oils and tightly sealed containers.
Seham moved lightly between stalls, bargaining, buying, and gathering news about coming caravans and who was watching the roads.
Marana went to the herb market, buying rare leaves for treating fever and scorpion stings, and roots that strengthened the body against heat.
As for Riman…
he sat at the heart of the market, drawing people on his small board.
No one paid him any attention
and that was his greatest gift.
As sunset approached, they gathered near the market dome.
There, a tall man appeared dark-skinned, his features shaped by the sun.
His eyes were blue, uncommon in these lands.
He stood beside five massive camels, patting their necks like old companions.
In a deep voice he said:
"I was told you are looking for a desert guide."
Aram asked,
"Are you Argus?"
The man smiled calmly.
"If the road knows me, there is no need for people to."
Aram said,
"What is your price?"
Without hesitation, Argus replied:
"I take no coin.
I take the company.
If your journey is worth it… then I am your man."
A brief silence fell.
Then Aram said firmly:
"Our journey is long… and it is worth it."
Argus patted one of the camels.
"Then we move at dawn.
The desert waits for no one
and it does not favor the late."
That night, Aram knew the road had changed.
No longer a path of mountains,
nor villages,
nor ambushes.
They were standing at the Gate of the East.
And beyond it
the journey would no longer be measured by distance,
but by survival.