"A man of many talents!" Qasood exclaims. "Of course you may!"
The rest of the dinner goes by with much laughter, stories and questions from the Ransoori about the lands to the north. After about two hours, servants arrive to remove the dishes and leftover food. The tables are moved to one side of the banquet room, and you are all ushered to the other side where dozens of beautifully stitched and beaded cushions are piled. Low tables with bottles of wine and finger foods are placed among you. Suddenly, the doors are flung open and a torrent of music played on a variety of drums, small cymbals, reedy horns and flutes, and stringed instruments floods the room. Four women, dressed in loose fitting silken costumes enter ahead of the musicians, their bodies moving in time to the music. As with all Ransoori, they have black hair, creamy skin, and jet black eyes. From time to time, exotic scents seem fill the air, but strangely you don't "smell" it with your nostrils. You just "register" them. Flickers of light at the edge of your vision and even the chiming of crystal bells also assail you, yet you neither truly "see" or "hear" them.
The women move like serpents, almost as if they had no spines. Swaying and undulating to the complex rhythms played by the musicians, they are hypnotic. The dance is a feast for the senses; at times you swear you can feel them caress your skin, though they never come closer than three feet to you. Then, without warning, the music stops and the musicians and dancers all bow in unison, their hands pointing and eyes down, awaiting your response.
