Three claps would stop the drummers. I liked hearing them. Their
drums were square boxes of wood with skins on top and bottom. The
drummers would flip them over. A semi-circle of box & box type items,
on the heads of slaves, carried by slaves? Straps of leather laying over
the drums and the other items. There were cymbal-players there too. I
was being borne as well. The drivers complained bitterly about the
music. Still, they were slaves, or so it seems, but apparently slaves
with an attitude.
     I was a guest.
     Spire, the Egyptian God, accompanied by a crescent or a small horn,
one of the Egyptian proto-gods — suggested a total of 9 rebirths. I
looked up at a blue god, Krishna. Blue with black hair, painted over
this bar type place. Smiling at me. I smiled back, grinning widely. I
asked it if he was Spire. ("Scribe?") He didn't answer — I got the sense
he could see me, even though he seemed painted.
     I was a guest of someone royal. I knew about the clapping to stop
them. I clapped four times, I think, not knowing what might happen
then, but they got the point and stopped.