Of course, it isn't only people of the Celestial Empire who are accustomed to giving gifts and pulling strings. Foreigners are no less skilled in this regard.
Otherwise, back in Qarth, how did Daenerys manage to spend tens of thousands of gold coins so quickly?
That Xaro, who pocketed 777 gold coins from the Dragon Queen without fulfilling his promises, is still in the labor camp to this day, toiling away at the hardest and dirtiest tasks!
As for the Imp, although he was the son of a duke, he never wielded much real power. During his time as acting Hand of the King in King's Landing, he was far too busy simply trying to survive to even think about demanding bribes.
Heaven bear witness, in all his life no one had ever given him a gift.
Now, experiencing this for the very first time, even though he had braced himself for it, Tyrion still felt a little stunned.
He glanced around. Seeing no one paying attention to the open carriage, he awkwardly concealed the small wooden box, no larger than a harmonica, beneath his sleeve.
Holding it in his hand, he fiddled with it for a moment before asking in a low voice, "What is this?"
"An emperor's blessing!" Xaro bent close, whispering into the dwarf's ear. "The Son of Heaven of Yi, Bu Hao, once summoned the greatest physicians and sorcerers from across the world and spent millions of gold coins to create this pleasure-inducing marvel. Just one pill, and you'll find yourself rejuvenated with the passion of youth."
Tyrion lifted his chin slightly. With a swift motion, he tucked the box into his pocket and said proudly, "I have no need for it."
"Yes, of course you don't. It is but a small token," Xaro replied with an understanding smile.
"Just a token, then. And what do you expect me to say to the Queen on your behalf in return?" Tyrion asked with a faint smile, glancing at him.
"General Wildfire, as the saying goes, 'Punishment does not reach the nobility, and disgrace is not inflicted upon knights.' Our customs here are the same as in Westeros.
Even if nobles and knights belong to opposing camps, they should not be humiliated in such a fashion.
Wendre, a royal of Qarth, forced to shovel dung on an estate—this is outrageous and disheartening to nobles everywhere. You should persuade Her Majesty to correct such an error." Xaro spoke with indignant passion, though his tone betrayed helplessness.
"Wendre took 777 gold coins from Her Majesty, yet pocketed the money without lifting a finger. You know this better than I. How could the Queen not despise him?" Tyrion retorted.
"That minor matter from years ago, the Queen still remembers?" Xaro froze, utterly incredulous.
"She remembers it perfectly well," Tyrion nodded.
"This…" Xaro's expression shifted. Suddenly he recalled how, after the Dragon Queen rejected his marriage proposal, he had cut off her delicacies—her favorite peacock tongues were the first to vanish.
He had even demanded back the gifts he had once given her.
That, surely, made him even more hateful than Wendre?
No… not quite. After all, he had only given without receiving in return. He hadn't taken advantage of her the way Wendre had.
It was different. It had to be different. Otherwise, why would she later gift him a golden coat?
Thinking this, Xaro felt reassured once more.
"General, how much pay do you earn each month in Slaver's Bay?" Xaro changed the subject.
"I was fined half a year's salary. I haven't received much lately," Tyrion replied.
"Ah, that is excessive! With your great merits, it is already wrong for Her Majesty not to shower you with rewards. But to even dock your pay?" Xaro shook his head again and again.
"I serve the Queen's grand cause. I care little for money," Tyrion declared with solemn righteousness, like a revolutionary unafraid of sacrifice.
Yes—this man truly deserved to die!
Xaro sneered inwardly but outwardly kept a warm smile. "Loyalty to the Queen and wealth need not be in conflict. I did not come here empty-handed. If you can ensure I don't leave empty-handed, I promise you will be satisfied."
"And how exactly will you satisfy me? Don't be fooled by my size. I'm not so easy to please," Tyrion said.
By now, he could not continue feigning ignorance, nor could he sternly refuse.
The Queen hadn't assigned him to entertain Xaro because he was free of duties.
The Battle of Tholos had already demonstrated the terrifying power of wildfire bombs, as well as how quickly a war consumed them.
These days, on odd-numbered days, the Wildfire General mounted a dragon to raid Allied supply ships near the Straits of the Maiden Free; on even-numbered days, he inspected the alchemists at the wildfire foundries, pressing them to improve efficiency and increase production.
He was busy—far too busy to act as a diplomat, and certainly too busy to waste time receiving Xaro.
But the Dragon Queen needed someone to play along in her double act, to convince the Allies to ransom their people back without the slightest suspicion.
And when all was considered, no one in Slaver's Bay was better suited to this task than the dwarf.
"Ten thousand gold coins!" Xaro raised a finger.
A flicker of greed flashed in Tyrion's mismatched eyes, though he forced himself to appear calm. "If Lord Xaro has one or two friends languishing in the prisoner camp, I might put in a gentle word to the Queen on their behalf."
"I have friends everywhere, across the world," Xaro said, raising a finger with deliberate meaning. "One price—one hundred thousand gold coins—to ransom all captives of knightly rank and above."
"Heh… one hundred thousand." Greed glimmered more brightly in Tyrion's eyes. His cheeks twitched, but he still shook his head. "Lord Xaro, between the last two dragon battles, over thirty or forty dragonriders were captured. At Tholos alone, more than five hundred nobles fell into our hands. And you offer only a hundred thousand?"
"That shows no sincerity at all."
"You mean to say you can persuade the Queen to release all those nobles?" Xaro's eyes widened in disbelief.
This time, his shock was entirely genuine.
Could this dwarf really wield such power?
He didn't believe it.
"Let me ask you: where is the Queen's homeland?" Tyrion countered, eyes gleaming.
"Westeros. But she grew up on the streets of the Free Cities. What of it?"
"And tell me, is the Queen a noble?" Tyrion asked again.
"Of course. A king is the greatest of nobles."
"She is from Westeros, raised among its customs, herself a knight who values honor. Such a queen—why would she not abide by the rules of nobility? Accept ransom, take the gold, and release the captives?"
Xaro frowned. "What are you implying? If ransom could be paid and accepted through normal channels, why would I…"
Why would I need to go through you?
Besides, Westerosi nobles are not fools. They would never release captives before the war's end—unless both sides exchanged prisoners.
For Xaro and Daenerys to arrange ransom in the middle of a war, to buy back their "generals," was almost unthinkable.
Of course, by etiquette, the Dragon Queen could not simply refuse outright.
Otherwise, if her knights were captured by the allied forces, were they all expected to immediately die an honorable death?
She agreed, but her knights would never accept that!
Even if they were to sacrifice themselves for the Queen's cause of freeing slaves, they should still receive the treatment befitting knights. Otherwise, what meaning was there in being a noble?
Nobles must always remain superior under any circumstances. Even as prisoners, they should enjoy privileges.
Thus, Xaro had a good chance of taking away a few individuals of high status but little ability.
He planned to give Tyrion a gift simply to bring the number up into double digits.
As for redeeming all the nobles, that had never once crossed his mind.
But the Imp hinted it might be possible.
"As long as you can pay—twenty thousand from you, ten thousand from me, and another ten thousand from the Queen—you can ransom back as many prisoners as you like," Tyrion said confidently.
"Twenty thousand? Are you mad?" Xaro growled. "Back in Qarth, when Daenerys sought an audience with the royal family, it cost her just over ten thousand in gold."
"You could wait until the war is over, then pay market price. One prisoner goes for a thousand gold coins, about three hundred gold dragons—the ransom of a high noble in Westeros," Tyrion said mockingly.
"I didn't bring that much gold this time," Xaro muttered.
"Then whatever you have will do," Tyrion replied indifferently.
Xaro's eyes flickered. In a low voice he said, "General, I have five exquisite bed-slaves, worth a hundred nobles. What do you say?"
"Five bed-slaves for a hundred nobles?" Tyrion's eyes bulged as he stared at him with a twisted expression. "You're not joking?"
"Why would I joke? Each is a peerless beauty, trained in the seven arts of spring's cries. If you doubt me, we can turn around and head to the docks, and I'll let you take a good look," Xaro said earnestly.
Tyrion shook his head, remarking strangely, "So, a thousand-year noble of Qarth, proud Valyrian pureblood, is worth only one-twentieth of a bed-slave."
"Uh…" Xaro froze for a moment, then said awkwardly, "You can't put it that way. Otherwise, your Westerosi knights wouldn't even equal one-hundredth of a bed-slave.
The cheapest Purple Maiden in Yunkai costs a hundred thousand gold coins, most are priceless. A Westerosi knight is worth about three hundred gold honors."
"That…" Tyrion too felt embarrassed.
If not for special circumstances, the "Halfman's" ransom as a prisoner would be half that of an ordinary knight—fifty gold dragons.
Not even worth a bed-slave's toe?
"You're not exaggerating? A hundred thousand gold honors for a bed-slave? Even gold men aren't worth that, you'd need a golden giant," the dwarf retorted, face flushed red.
"General, ask the Yunkish how top-tier bed-slaves are trained. Then you'll understand why they cost so much."
Tyrion fell silent.
Though he didn't know the exact training costs, he had heard similar tales from the Red Priestesses of the Great Sept of Divine Grace.
Even the Wise Masters of Yunkai couldn't train more than three "Purple Maidens" at a time. These Purple Maidens were bred specifically to serve the Valyrian dragonlords. After the Doom, they became synonymous with the finest bed-slaves in Yunkai.
Thinking of this, Tyrion, though fully aware it was all an act, still felt a twinge of temptation.
"They're absolutely worth the price! If I weren't short of coin right now, I'd never part with my dearest treasures," Xaro said with a knowing smile.
"Astapor does not permit slavery. Any slave who crosses the Bay of Free Cities automatically gains freedom," Tyrion said with difficulty.
"They're not slaves. They're my bodyguards. With your status in Slaver's Bay, General, gaining a little special privilege shouldn't be an issue," Xaro replied.
"Fine. Five bed-slaves for fifty prisoners," Tyrion reluctantly agreed.
Not even the General of Wildfire, let alone the Queen's nephew Aegon, could openly keep slaves in Astapor.
Still, the dwarf had already planned to find a pretext to agree with Xaro. Refusing outright might only arouse suspicion.
"Wasn't it a hundred?" Xaro said through clenched teeth, suppressing his anger.
"That's the price. Take it or leave it," Tyrion shrugged, feigning laziness.
Xaro glared at the dwarf for a long while, then ground his teeth and said, "Deal!"
Sooner or later, I'll kill you, you deformed little monkey demon!
When they arrived at the pyramid, the Dragon Queen welcomed her old friend with the greatest warmth. Not only did she host a banquet of fine food and wine, but she also presented him in public with a red-plumed feathered cap—the insignia of honor.
At last, Daenerys fulfilled the promise she had made at the docks of Qarth.
During the feast, the Imp kept the atmosphere lively with witty remarks, constantly hinting at the preferential treatment given to noble prisoners in Westeros. He also lavished endless flattery on the Dragon Queen—declaring her matchless, saying there was no difference between freeing knights and freeing mercenaries, since neither posed any threat to her.
(End of Chapter)
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