The sand inside the city was much less of a chore to trudge through, Strange realized. The ground felt solid beneath his feet, almost like a kind of laid brick or coarse granite. Did they routinely sweep the city, he wondered? Everything they passed was the same dull color; the city was a monochromatic swath of yellow-grey structures, many small domes or almost stone igloos, though at the further end of the city he could see a few towers that stretched up six, perhaps seven stories. Nothing that threatened the height of a Manhattan skyscraper, though. Which, Strange ruminated, was possibly impractical due to the possible desert winds. It was a bustling city-- the streets were filled with people and strange creatures. Every so often, some sort of hovercraft zipped down the street or small ships like jets roared overhead.
"I wonder if this is some kind of checkpoint or trading post. Some kind of business hub for the desert. Look, there," Stephen pointed off to the right, "some sort of tavern?"
What writing was visible outside this building was in an alien language. But what drew Strange's attention was that, whenever the door slid open (automated, and seemingly leading into some kind of sand and wind-tight vestibule?) there was music that poured out. Instrumental music, sure, but the upbeat kind that you'd expect to accompany any popular drinking hole.
"Maybe we can get more information inside?" Strange hoped as he made overtures toward the building in question. "In any case, a grateful reprieve from the blaring sun."