[Illustration: A COURTYARD, MARRAKESH]
They have a short way with offenders in Moorish cities. I remember
seeing a man brought to the Kasbah of a northern town on a charge of using
false measures. The case was held proven by the khalifa; the culprit was
stripped to the waist, mounted on a lame donkey, and driven through the
streets, while two stalwart soldiers, armed with sticks, beat him until he
dropped to the ground. He was picked up more dead than alive, and thrown
into prison.
There are two sorts of market in Marrakesh--the open market outside the
walls, and the auction market in the Kaisariyah. The latter opens in the
afternoon, by which time every little boxlike shop is tenanted by its
proprietor. How he climbs into his place without upsetting his stores, and
how, arrived there, he can sit for hours without cramp, are questions I
have never been able to answer, though I have watched him scores of times.
He comes late in the day to his shop, lets down one of the covering flaps,
and takes his seat by the step inside it. The other flap has been raised
and is kept up by a stick. Seated comfortably, he looks with dispassionate
eye upon the gathering stream of life before him, and waits contentedly
until it shall please Allah the One to send custom.
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