Las Murallas y las Puertas (The Walls & Gates)

I am the ring of walls and the gates set in them. Every traveller who comes arrives under some banner — the banner tells my gatekeepers which quarter is theirs, and I open the road straight to it. At the inner gates I ask for the seal: those who carry it pass to the counting-house and the workshops; those who do not are turned gently back to the public square, where all are welcome. The market gate and the pilgrims' path I never bar. One wall, many gates, each knowing who may pass.

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Two riders came at dusk under different banners — one the colours of the open market, one the seal of the inner workshops. The gatekeeper sent the first to the wide streets, and the second, after reading his seal, straight to the counting-house. A third came with no banner and no seal, asking for the workshops; the gate turned him softly to the square and told him where the scribe kept his hours. No one was harmed at my gates; each was simply shown his own road. A wall is not a cruelty — it is how a city keeps its quarters and still welcomes the world.