Well, Harun would give Raghba Shahir one thing. It certainly knew how to throw a party. 

The sun beat down on the immaculate city, its towering spires and multicolored ribbons and tabards served as the only respite in its wake. Announcing the beginning of the festivities were ungulating cries and small prayers to Hayashim before the cornucopia of extravagant pleasures and haughty talk commenced. It happened so quickly and with such gusto that Harun did not know exactly what to do. 

Having grown up on the streets of Il-Shamabad, Harun wasn't used to vast celebration. The rulers there were far more militaristic and utilitarian in manner. The city guards roamed the streets just as the thugs did, and he had grown quite a collection of scars escaping imprisonment before he had seen fifteen summers. As such, he'd put more men in the ground rather than women in their bed, an old friend once said. He wasn't exactly a people person, he guessed. But he was young and strong, and he wasn't above a good party. He actually missed his old city, but killing an Emir was generally frowned upon so he fled to the only city larger and richer than the last. 

He poked his head around the street corner, past the marketplace where merchants of every race and garb were selling their wares with what could only be described as a desperation. In the bath houses, he saw scantily clad women rubbing the shoulders of corsairs and courtiers of the sultan. One ebony pirate was so rotund, his stomach seemed to balloon outward into the water with no sign of curving backward. Across the center, dancing girls spun veil weaves as their bodies leaped and spun teasingly. 

They were pretty, but past them and a crowd of fish wives, he saw a woman that would make any man turn twice. A raven haired beauty that had him attempting to peek over the crowd to gain a better look.

He decided to step out into the Bazaar from the alley, eyes locked onto the woman just as a rumble betrayed the monstrous creature about to step on him. His heart leapt into his mouth when an Elephant turned a corner and nearly crushed him, a mustachioed Satrap atop the beast, sneering. "Out of the way, boy!" He spat, uncoiling a whip and swapping at Harun. It was all the street rat could do to keep himself from being smooshed, and expertly he caught the whip on his forearm. 

"That's a new record." Harun replied, yanking the whip out of the Satrap's hands with a muscled tug. You would think he would have learned not to piss off powerful people. His next remark was casual. "Two seconds and I can already tell you're a huge bitch." 

Needless to say, he had a problem with authority.