Standing in the middle of the market square, Deker quickly saw they were blocked on three sides: by the advancing police troops from the city's south side, the wall of the fortress to their west, and the closed city gate to their east. That left them only one direction of escape.
"Rahab's Inn," Deker said. "It must be on the other side of the square."
He heard no argument from the purse-lipped Elezar as they disappeared into the twisting alleys of the city's cramped north side. This part of town was further stratified, with the better housing uphill against the outside of the fortress wall above them and the slums pressed against the inside of the lower city wall.
They hurried onto one of two main boulevards lined with palm trees that swayed in the darkening sky, then turned into an alley, emerging in another square. The evening was alive with small groups of Reahns strolling about and filling up the taverns. If there was a nightly curfew, it was still a few hours away, and the inhabitants of the city had long ago made their peace with the presence of troops and police searches in their lives.
"This is it," Deker said, pointing to the red scarves hanging from the windows of the brothels around the square. "The red-light district. Wasn't Rahab the hooker supposedly spared when Jericho fell because she tied a scarlet cord in her window so that the Israelite troops would avoid her house?"
"Figures she's the only thing you'd remember from Hebrew school," Elezar quipped as he scanned the surroundings.
"Not that it helps us," Deker said. "Almost every window here has a red scarf."
It was a shabby but busy area dotted with fruit stands, sweetshops and taverns that encircled the square. Elezar made a beeline for an outside table stacked high with dates and pomegranates on one side and jars and cups on the other. The old Reahn woman behind the table didn't even wait to pour them two cups of pomegranate juice.
Deker downed the sweet juice in one giant gulp. He realized he hadn't eaten all day, not since the night before in Shittim.
Elezar played it better, taking a sip and nodding his appreciation before he placed the cup down, wiped his mouth with his hand and simply asked, "Rahab?"
The woman seemed puzzled that any man would have to ask, but her eyes drifted to the four-story villa above a tavern and opposite what appeared to be the local police station. It was an open-fronted building with a courtyard on the square filled with straw chairs arranged under the trees.
And packed under those trees, drinking the local ale, smoking the local weeds and playing a game with small pegs while they waited to be serviced, were a dozen Reahn officers.
"We're fucked," Deker said under his breath.
"For both our sakes, I hope you're right, Deker," Elezar replied. "Reahn custom prevents these men from barging into a woman's room. They must ask permission to enter. Let's go," he said, and started for the inn.