Haven

Haven - the word conjures images of security, safety and peace. And, oh, how this city has earned it's name. It's walls, soaring high to prevent a successful attack, are thicker than a man is tall even at it's narrowest point and maintains soundness even in the face of the strongest catapult. There isn't a man who could count the archers manning the ramparts, for even if the time was taken to try, the guard would change and a fresh man would replace each you've already counted - again, then again and again. The spires of the homes of the wealthy and the palace rise hundreds of feet into the air, casting their shadows for miles. Those too, are protected, by strong magic, lest they tempt the gods with their opulence.
The inside of Haven, though, is where one meets security face to face. Upon entering the outer gate, each visitor to this monumental city is relieved of all their weapons, forcibly if necessary, which are stored, each for his man, in locked quarters. No one enters Haven with so much as a dagger in their boot - only the guard is armed. And what a guard!
Dressed head to toe in gleaming mithril chain mail so finely woven it appears as silk, each guard is indistinguishable from the others behind his mithril mask. Only the commanders bear one color or another to show their rank. Their weapons vary little among each man and you can quickly discern where one's mastery lies. Proficient with all guard weapons yet especially skilled with one; swords of all sizes, some with axes or bows and a few with halberds or pikes. Those most respected, though, carry no weapons at all, for their hands are deadlier than any blade or arrow. These are the GuardMasters.