Beautiful Issa plunged into the night. A city of a thousand palaces and countless wretched huts. A city of magnificent temples glorifying hundreds of gods and a city of mighty towers built by someone unknown and when. The reflections of the setting sun still illuminated the tops of the highest towers, and magic lamps, candles, and in some places just torches were lit in the houses. The righteous townspeople were in a hurry to finish their daily chores and quickly get home, clearing the streets for night patrols and inconspicuous servants of the Order of the Quietest, who gathered thieves and robbers under his roof. In the distance, perhaps the last praise of the day was heard. “Happy are those who live in the city of thousands of palaces, under the shadow of the greatest and wisest Yusupali, the great and infallible, whose wisdom is comparable only to his beauty, and whose power knows no measure.” Borkh grinned. He had a chance to see the ruler. If the latter's wisdom is comparable to his own beauty, then the result is a complete idiot.