15.07.275Flooding of the Skahazadhan River, khalasar of KhalBharbo
Dothraki. A people of the steppes who rose after the fall of ancient Valyria and have terrorized the entire population of Western Essos for many years. This nomadic people, who have no permanent settlements except for the famous Vaes Dothrak, and wander the endless fertile steppes of the so-called Dothraki Sea, have brought much grief to other people.
The destruction of the Sarnor kingdom, constant raids on their distant relatives - the Lhazareen, the devastation of all the land colonies of Qarth and constant raids on the lands of the Free Cities ...
This is an aggressive nation, not accustomed to cultivating their own bread and preferring to rob their neighbors during endless horse raids. Only two forces receive any help and benefit from the existence of these barbarians.
The cities of Slaver's Bay and the remains of the Demesne of Hyrkoon. And if the former receive slaves from them from all the lands bordering the Dothraki Sea, then assistance to the latter has a much older and more complicated history. Four hundred years ago, when the Dothraki had just appeared as a nation and united under the leadership of Khal Mengo, his mother Dosha, the Queen of the Witches, ordered him to introduce an ironclad rule for the warriors of the steppes, those who violated it would become outcasts and be sentenced to death. It stated that no Dothraki would ever, under any circumstances, plunder the lands of Kayakayanai, Samiriana and Bayazabad.
On the contrary, all khals, in the future, would have to help the Fiefdom of Girkune and its defenders with all their might, especially during wars. For if at least one of the three fortress cities falls, the Dothraki will have a new strong and numerous enemy - the Jogos-nhai. And this rule is observed to this day.
The Dothraki culture itself is entirely dependent on horses, and they call themselves "horse lords." Even their own name simply means "horsemen," "those who ride." So when the goal of my short journey became visible from the deck of the Black Panther, I expected to see a bunch of constantly screaming, roughly dressed and shameless barbarians. Expectations were fully justified.
A gigantic camp, consisting of rare richly decorated tents and thousands of primitive huts or canopies made of spun grass, which could protect at most from the rare rain, served as a home for eighty thousand people dressed in painted leather vests on naked bodies, woven breeches made of horsehair and heavy belts made of bronze or gold circles. Who cooked food, looked after horses, ate, drank, urinated, defecated, copulated with women, boys, mares or sheep right on the street, without being embarrassed by anyone.
I, and the whole crew, were shocked. Especially the northerners - one of the most reserved people in all of Westeros. To them, such behavior seemed to be a violation of all the laws that they sacredly honor. Some of the highlanders even grabbed axes. We had to leave everyone on the ship under the supervision of Edward, and go only in the company of Oberyn, who, on the contrary, liked it here.
I swear, I heard,as he said, "And why wasn't I born a Dothraki?"
The Dothraki's skin turned out to be a reddish-brown color, reminiscent of freshly cooled bronze. Combined with their narrow, slanted eyes, they reminded me of replicas of nomads from Earth's central Asia that I had once seen in a museum.
Their men wore long, drooping mustaches, signifying their age and experience, which they intercepted with metal rings, and long, narrow braids into which they wove small bells - symbols of their victories, and women thin wrist bracelets showing the strength and wealth of her husband.
Our appearance in the camp did not create a great furor. For several days now, envoys of the families of the Great, Good and Wise Lords have been wandering here, choosing goods to suit themselves. Before my eyes, some guy dressed in the characteristic clothes of Astapor (thanks to Grazdan for the lesson on how to distinguish the locals) was leaving one of the richly decorated tents in the company of a slave translator and several dozen tied-up and crying boys, maximum five or four years old.
Among them, in addition to the Lhazarians and the Dothraki themselves, I could discern several Ibbenians, half-breeds with a Valyrian appearance, captured somewhere in the Free Cities, Quartheans and even Itians. In the future, all these boys will be trained as Unsullied and it would be good if at least a quarter of them survive. Initially, this entire journey was planned with only one goal - to see how and what these people live on, without running into trouble. But even so, I very quickly found trouble on my ass.
Oberyn and I went to the camp fully equipped - the Prince of Dorne took his favorite leaf-blade spear and put on thick red leather armor with yellow suns adorned with thread. And I put on my "standard" clothes - chainmail, cuirass, shoulder pads, bracers and simple canvas pants protected by a thick leather skirt.
Well, and about the sword and helmet hanging on the baldric, I did not forget. I did not want to drag my axe around the entire camp. It is quite natural that my outfit caused a wave of merriment and ridicule among the surrounding Dothraki, who believed that one should fight only with an arakh and a bare ass.
At such moments, you regret that you are a native speaker and understand all the ridicule thrown by these idiots. Oberyn, for example, thought that these barbarians were laughing at something of their own, not paying attention to us. Although, knowing this walking problem, he probably constantly stared at the slave girls and Dothraki passing by. I am a patient person. It is very difficult to anger me for no reason.
But when you listen to incessant ridicule for almost an hour, and then some fearless idiot comes up to you and starts calling you achra ador (p.a. translates as stinking turtle), poking his stinking finger right in your face, patience runs out very quickly. The result was predictable - a gauntlet in the face and a fan of teeth flying through the air. The ensuing hubbub did not last long. At first, they wanted to simply, without any discussion, cut us down,but my knowledge of the language (even though it turned out to be very clumsy) and the explanation of why the victim was now in the caring hands of the local eunuch dentist, gave him a chance to survive.
And ten minutes later, I, wearing a helmet and fully prepared for battle, stood in the very center of the settlement, opposite the father of that moron who was already bragging about what he would do with my corpse when he won. The duel was quick. Catch the blade of the arakh on a specially reinforced bracer, redirect it downwards and, while the enemy was regaining his balance, give a good chop with the sword, cutting the collarbone, several ribs and a lung. A few seconds of combat and a lightning-fast victory.
Following the silence that reigned, a new uproar reigned. While the locals were deciding what to do and how to kill me, I went up to the defeated enemy and unfastened a nice-looking bell from his braid (which turned out to be quite short) and attached it to my hair, which I had long since let grow and it reached the middle of my back. I really liked the custom with the bells, I wanted a few for myself. Ten minutes later, the same thing happened again - a cousin of the murdered man was found who decided to avenge the blood of his relative.
As a result, another bell was added to my braid, because it was a surprise to the locals that a sword can and should be used for stabbing, not just chopping. The next three hours were very monotonous - I was challenged, a battle took place (which after the first five became until the first blood and not at all revenge for fallen comrades, but a kind of competition of who would defeat an outsider), won mainly by the fact that I had armor, better weapons and a huge number of dirty tricks, such as grabs, interceptions of weapons, trips, throwing sand in the eyes and knee strikes in the groin.
But everything has an end, including my series of victories. When another Dothraki fell to the ground, clutching his injured balls and with a cut braid, Khal Bharbo himself decided to drop in on the party with his khalakka.
The Khal himself, if I may say so, turned out to be the ideal of a Dothraki – tall, not inferior to me in height, lean, with dry and curly muscles, like steel ropes, luxurious black mustache and a long, intricately braided braid that reached his knees. And judging by the presence of his little copy, who looked only seven or eight years old, but already had "adult" bells in her braid, he had a worthy heir.
There were no special politesses – Bharbo immediately said that he had come to fight with me, and I did not refuse. Although I never neglected training, training every day on the ship and in the ports of our arrival, even learning to fight on horseback on the stern (Bucephalus was happy), but worthy opponents were rare and to go against one of the strongest fighters of the steppes ...
This excited the blood, made me shake with impatience. The fight was almost over before it even began. Khal did not see the full capabilities of my sword and armor, so he almost fell for a simple trick with a transition from a chopping blow to a thrust. He dodged the blow that was supposed to pierce his shoulder only by reflex and incredible flexibility for his physique.
Then followed an attempt to get closer to me and take advantage of the knives over a long blade, but, as my father bequeathed, "A blow to the face with a gauntlet is sometimes more effective than any swords." Having dodged a steel fist flying into the Adam's apple, Bharbo jumped away from me like a panther, realizing that he had nothing to catch at close and long distances, he switched to a standard version of the fight. A real dance began.
The sword and arakh fluttered between us, trying to bypass the built defense and break through to the soft and inviting flesh. And if I had any protection that would guarantee my survival, then the khal was constantly walking on the edge of the blade.
Like a flowing stream, he skirted all my attacks, constantly counterattacking, trying to cut off an extra piece of muscle. I was saved only by the presence of armor, which was timely substituted for the blows of the enemy's blade, and the presence of a good school of combat, allowing me to save strength and not yield to this beast in the guise of a man. Our danza lasted a long time - almost two minutes.
My armor and youth balanced the experience and incredible agility of the khal. But, in the end, the winner was determined. The khal took advantage of my hesitation and fatigue due to the heat (despite the river running nearby, the heat there was 30-35 degrees, doubly intensified by the armor) and deflected my sword, losing his arakh in the process, he rushed at me like lightning, putting his knife to the gap between the helmet and the cuirass. The sharp blade rested against my Adam's apple.
The winner was determined. The khal, taking one of the bells from my braid, hung it on himself, and my long hair was cut off and given to the winner, as the Dothraki traditions dictated. Then Bharbo surprised everyone - he wrapped my hair around the guard of his arakh, tying it into a thick, but small knot that did not interfere with his fight. As I learned in the libraries of the Citadel, this gesture appeared among the Dothraki after the siege of Norvos, almost four hundred years ago.
When Khal Temmo, even before the unification of the Dothraki into one people under the hand of Khal Mengo, moved to conquer the free city of Qohor at the head of a khalasar of 50 thousand people, the army of this free city stood in his way.
The Qohorians, knowing about the approach of the nomads, tried to fortify the city and gather an army from the local militia and mercenaries. Plus, "just in case", three thousand Unsullied were bought in Astapor, whom no one perceived as a serious military force due to their recent appearance on the slave market and their still absent reputation. The Unsullied approached the city when the Qohor cavalry army was already defeated, and the mercenaries fled from the battlefield, abandoning their employers.
Thus, there could have been eight Free Cities, not nine. The next morning, when the Dothraki prepared to storm Qohor for the final time, they found a dense line of slave spearmen before the main gates. By Dothraki standards, the cavalry was supposed to trample infantry without mercy, so they simply charged.
The Unsullied locked shields, lowered their spears, and stood their ground. Temmo repeated the futile attempt to crush the infantry 18 more times, and three times used archers against the Unsullied, raining arrows down on the enemy, but the Astapor eunuchs raised their shields above their heads, forming a kind of turtle, protecting them from the arrows. In the end, the Dothraki admitted defeat: although only 600 of the three thousand Unsullied remained alive, more than twelve thousand riders were killed, including Khal Temmo himself, his sons, and the bloodriders.
In recognition of defeat, the new Khal, Temmo's successor, ordered his warriors to cut off their braids and throw them at the feet of the Unsullied. Since then, the city guard of Qohor is recruited only from the Unsullied, and they wear braids of human hair on the shafts of their spears, and among the Dothraki, accepting and wrapping an enemy's braid around their weapon is considered recognition of the enemy's martial skill and shows their respect for him.
Oberyn, too, wasted no time - he also managed to put up a good fight, cutting off the hair of thirteen Dothraki, but he got a beating from one of Bharbo's bloodriders, just like me, getting a new haircut.Still, the Dornish fighting style is more like the Dothraki, differing only in the presence of light leather armor and a preference for a spear. As a result, the Dornish prince and I were recognized as "blood friends" of the khalasar, and invited to the evening feast.
And if I mostly communicated with the khal and his bloodriders, asking about their travels and the peculiarities of life of the people born in the saddle, gradually sipping the local analogue of kumiss, then Oberyn behaved like a real horseborn - he got drunk as a skunk, beat all the Dothraki women he met, because of which he fought with the locals eight more times. In the morning, he was found in a stable with horses, with two black eyes, smeared in horse shit and completely bald. I laughed for a long time then, looking at this picture.
Surely, if Oberyn weren't Oberyn, I would have already been challenged to a duel or sent mercenaries for insulting the honor of the lord, but this womanizer didn't give a damn. When he saw himself from the outside, he couldn't hold back his laughter and made me promise that I wouldn't let him drink in the Dothraki camp anymore.
The farewell was short - Bharbo gave me a beautiful arakh, decorated with precious stones and white gold, receiving in return from me five casks of expensive golden Arbor wine. Plus his son, a khalakka named Drogo, received from me for growth that same sword, which the day before was used to cut down more than a dozen of his fellow tribesmen, and a small prediction. "In the future, when you become the strongest and most invincible of all the khals of the Dothraki seas, you will have a wife.
With hair the color of the full moon, eyes the color of sparkling amethyst, beauty worthy of conquering countries and peoples, and the fate of a real dragon. Take care of her, for you will be the only one she can rely on." I understood then that it would come back to haunt me, but I don't care - I only know the main points of the fate of this world and will change it as I want.
12.08 .275Lands beyond the Wall
My second visit to the lands beyond the wall went even better - the tribes of the Enchanted Forest, having learned about the worshipers exchanging a lot of food and quality weapons for bones, skins and live animals, happily agreed to trade.
Of course, there were idiots who decided to simply take away our cargo, but the presence of lake dwellers and foresters among the crews, who were excellent at shooting from a bow, and one special compound bought in the swamps, which they smeared the arrows with, easily made us the necessary reputation.
When after the first attack in terrible agony, literally rotting before our eyes, all the wounded (of which there were a lot, due to the lack of armor of the wildlings), most of the tribes quickly lost their desire for easy money. And those idiots who still risked another attack, repeated the fate of the first.
08/29 .275Volantis
It turned out that Oberyn is a very good and responsible father - he spent all three days while we were in Volantis with Nymeria, constantly playing with her and caressing her. Just the perfect daddy, if you do not take into account all his other habits (which are getting worse over the years - this bisexual managed to drag one of the ironborn sailors into bed ... Those who would first have their dick cut off for this in their homeland, and then be tied to the mast in chain mail and wait for the storm). I spent all my time with Atrakes, or rather in his brothel. I really liked that young Cortigiana. There was something special about her. If only I could figure out what.
09.26.275Summer Sea, not far from Port Ichos For the first time in my memory, we met pirates. The reason was simple - Volkan and Sigrid ate too much fruit ice in New Ghis and came down with a cold. We lost both ship sensors. But everything worked out - the crews and their captains proved that I was not paying them in vain, and we approached Kvart with three ships that turned out to be "former" members of the Tourmaline Brotherhood and were happily bought by the Thirteen and the Spice Guild. True, we had to give a large purse of gold to one of the Pureblood council to guarantee ourselves "protection" from the offended members of the brotherhood.
12.10 .275Golden Empire Yi- Ti , Yin The Golden Lands greeted us, as last time - not warmly. Having quickly sold and bought the necessary goods, submitted an application for the search and purchase of the necessary thing in one of the many Yin shareholding houses, I took off into the sunset, flying at full speed towards Lannisport. I missed my native land too much.
05 .1.276Oldtown
Oberyn never ceased to amaze me. While we stopped in Oldtown for repairs and an order for the construction of new schooners, he decided to visit the whore with whom he slept before we met. And it turned out that he had another daughter. Obara Sand could well have started earning a living like her mother, but, as I recently wrote, the Dornish prince loved his children very much. According to the northerners accompanying him, when Oberyn came for her daughter, her mother protested.
She loved her child too much. The prince acted quite wisely. He threw his spear at the girl's feet and told her to choose - the life of a whore or a warrior. Like her father's daughter, Obara took up arms. So I had a third little child on board, who was already starting to bully poor Volkan, who was too shy for his age. Her mother was inconsolable and went on a deep drinking spree. I asked Piper to keep an eye on her, while staying in Oldtown and overseeing the construction of new ships. And a few errands of mine.
09. 0 1.276Westlands, Lannisport
Lannisport greeted us as if we were family. I don't know, maybe it seemed that way to me because of my own joy at arriving in my native land, or maybe the locals really liked the sails of my shebeks, which by a twist of fate (or rather a discount on this dye in Qarth) were painted crimson – the symbol of the lion house.
But all this paled in comparison to the furor when the first buyers were allowed on the ships, which temporarily served as trading points. Fine silks of all available colors, velvet of purple and burgundy shades, with all kinds of gold and silver embroidery, dozens of elegant decorations made of ivory, moon silver and Leng gold, the quality and beauty of which gave even the products of local craftsmen a run for their money.
Dozens of types of spices, combining the most incredible combinations of taste and smell, towered in heaps on the lower dry decks, completely soaking the holds. And small mercury mirrors, not inferior in quality to Myrish ones, generally caused a reverent squeal from most of the women. And we must not forget about dozens of rare and exotic blades bought in the craft quarters of Yin, and a whole shelf of rare I-thian manuscripts, highly valued by maesters and rare enlightened lords.
Still, Westeros is not the richest region in terms of supply and most goods do not reach it from the East. At most, they end up in King's Landing in the treasuries of the royal family, in the form of gifts to the highest ranks of the Church of the Seven and the collections of rich merchants. So it is not surprising that on the third day of trading, from Casterly Rock itself, the main family of lions arrived on my ships.