The third visitor was a Shadowbinder from Asshai. Wearing a lacquered wooden mask, she spoke in fluent Common Tongue: "Greetings, Mother of Dragons. I am Quaithe, a Shadowbinder from the Shadow Lands."
The red-painted wooden mask concealed her eyes and facial expressions, and Daenerys couldn't discern her inner thoughts from her calm voice.
Daenerys nodded, gesturing for the centaurs to clear the path. She led the way, followed by her guests.
As they passed through the city gate, Daenerys spotted Ser Jorah and her Bloodriders approaching. On their way to the palace, she introduced them to each other again.
"You came seeking dragons," Jorah asked, voicing a question that had been burning in Daenerys's mind. "But how did you know dragons were here?"
"The stars guided us," Quaithe replied tersely.
"The stars?" Jorah looked puzzled.
"That one," the male warlock said, pointing to the red comet still hanging in the sky.
Three months had passed, and the comet hadn't completely vanished, though it had grown much fainter.
Perhaps soon, people would look up and wonder when it had disappeared entirely.
"The Weeping Star? But it's been shifting direction. How could it guide you? And what connection does its appearance have to dragons?" Jorah asked.
"To you common folk, it's merely a comet rare in a thousand years," the male warlock said, his voice low and eerie as he stared at Big Black. "But we who wield magical power can feel the immense shifts in the heavens and earth firsthand."
"Isn't that a bit exaggerated?" Jorah argued. "There have been dragons before. Everyone claims they've been extinct for over a century, but that's only in Westeros. The Ironborn say sea dragons dwell in the depths of the Sunset Sea, and the legends of ice dragons persist. Even Great Dragons have been rumored to appear in the world's hidden corners." He suspected the warlock was exaggerating, likely trying to deceive his princess.
The warlock's peculiar blue lips curled into a sneer, and he didn't even bother to address the "common folk" remark.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," clucked a Qarthian merchant, his head as round and smooth as a boiled egg. He cracked his camel on the rump and hurried over to Daenerys, his voice dripping with theatrical flattery. "Khaleesi, you were born to wear the most exquisite jewels, don the finest Myrish silks, be surrounded by servants, and reside in a palace as grand as the heavens themselves. Only Qarth, the heart of the world, can provide such splendor."
"And fortunately, I am both capable and sincerely wish to offer you these services. Please leave this wretched place and come with me to Qarth."
"Haha, Mr. Dassos, you are a noble and generous gentleman, but I have a large group of people to care for," Daenerys replied with a smile, politely declining.
Xaro burst into loud, proud laughter, his voice filled with arrogance and superiority. "Khaleesi, you truly should come to Qarth. This barren land pollutes your vision. The smallest guest room in my home could easily accommodate all your followers. In fact, the kings and great lords who visit me from across the world bring more attendants than you have, and I once hosted thirty-five noble guests at a single time."
*In simpler terms: any bathroom in my house is bigger than your entire home, and I have thirty-five bathrooms.*
Daenerys longed to retort, "I have three cities."
"Alas, you may not know that Khal Drogo is dead," she sighed.
"Of course we know," Xaro replied immediately. "The most powerful Horse King has died, and several new Khaos have risen across the Great Grass Sea. The entire continent of Essos knows this."
Daenerys froze, astonished by the bizarre speed at which information traveled in this world.
If Daenerys had witnessed the Raven's terrifying capabilities firsthand, she wouldn't have been so shocked.
"The problem is, the Usurper has never stopped hunting me. Last time, in the sacred city of Vaes Dothrak, he even dared to send someone to poison me. Without Khal's protection, what happens if he sends assassins after me once I leave here?"
"Khaleesi, there's no need to worry. Robert Baratheon, the man who usurped your father's throne, has been dead for nearly six months."
Xaro then began recounting the news from the Sunset Lands.
Just as Daenerys had seen in the TV series, "Old Bob" had been hunting when he drank wine laced with something by Lancel. In his drunken stupor, he was gored to death by a wild boar.
His death was as ignoble as his life had been glorious.
Ah, Lancel Lannister, Queen Cersei's cousin and a self-proclaimed "self-defense rod."
As for Old Bob, he was a formidable warrior in his youth. His spiked mace ranked third in the *A Song of Ice and Fire Weapon Compendium*, surpassed only by the modified version of The Mountain and Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, who wielded the greatsword *Dawn*.
The Red Viper, Khal Drogo, and Syrio Forel, the Sea Lord's first sword, were all a tier below Old Bob.
Rhaegar and the White Bull were another tier below that.
Jorah Mormont, standing beside Daenerys, looked awkward, likely a tier or two below the White Bull.
This isn't to unduly praise Old Bob, but in the entire *A Song of Ice and Fire* series, he's the only one whose Strength and Agility both reach their maximum potential.
Skills can be honed through training, but innate talent determines a person's ultimate limit.
We won't even mention his youthful feat of beating Rhaegar to death. Let's focus on Old Bob's final battle.
Ah yes, the one where he was gored to death by a wild boar.
He'd been drinking several large sacks of fortified liquor and couldn't evade the charging beast in time. The boar's tusks pierced his groin, slicing a half-meter-long gash upward through his lower abdomen. Had it not been for his ribs blocking the blade, he would have been split in two.
His intestines and organs spilled from his distended belly like days of pent-up feces finally released, spilling in a messy, gurgling cascade.
Anyone else would have collapsed immediately from a kick to the groin, but Old Bob, despite his grievous wounds, rallied in a desperate counterattack. With his spear, he stabbed the boar that was still impaled on his chest.
His valor was beyond compare.
He clung to life for several days afterward, leaving a will, reminiscing about their glorious past with his best friend Ned, and finally died with the help of "Poppy Milk."
Yet this formidable warrior was repeatedly cuckolded by his "whore queen" wife, Cersei—all three of his sons were not his own.
Yes, they were the product of Cersei and her own brother.
Cersei did not want to bear children for her husband, not even sharing a bed with him. Every time Old Bob got drunk and sought her out, she deliberately created the illusion of intimacy, though she never let him even touch her hand. The first time she became pregnant with Old Bob's child, she seemed to have deliberately miscarried.
(PS: This differs from the TV series *Game of Thrones*. Cersei never loved Robert, even refusing to share a bed with him. When forced to fulfill her marital duties, she deliberately got Robert drunk—he was often drunk himself. In their fourteen years of marriage, the number of times Robert and Cersei held hands could be counted on one's fingers.)
After Eddard became Prime Minister, he soon discovered that his best friend was raising another man's children, prompted by hints from several ill-intentioned individuals.
He then let Cersei know that he knew.
Realizing he knew, Cersei struck first. She ordered one of her lovers, her cousin Lancel, to poison Old Bob's wine. As described earlier, Old Bob died a brutal death under the tusks of a wild boar.
Of course, Xaro did not tell Daenerys the full story. He only mentioned rumors that Cersei had killed Robert.
"So, you needn't worry about the usurpers harming you anymore," he reassured Daenerys. "In Qarth, under my protection, no one will be able to touch you."
Daenerys nodded, following his lead. "How far is it from here to Qarth? How many days did it take to ride the camels to this point?"
"About a thousand kilometers. It took us nearly a week to get here."
Daenerys mentally calculated that their pace seemed similar to her own Khalisar's southward journey.
The only difference was that the camels could continue for another thousand kilometers in this environment, while her Khalisar was on the verge of collapse after just over five hundred kilometers.
As the group chatted, they arrived at the palace gates. A crowd of elders and children in the square stared in wonder at the three guests on the camels.
Daenerys provided the guests with fresh water and mare's milk to quench their thirst, and assigned them three bedrooms near the garden for rest.
That evening, she hosted a bonfire party in the square, serving roasted horse meat dipped in plum sauce, a mushroom and smoked venison stew, buttered beets, turnip stew, and the remaining wine.
The food was the best Khalisar could offer.
The three guests from Qarth produced red wine, sausages, and caviar from the saddlebags hanging on their camels.
Daenerys also brought out her three dragon-whelps, each the size of a large hound, for them to admire and touch.
She and Jorah watched their reactions closely. Quaithe's touch on the black dragon was full of reverence, while the male warlock's eyes betrayed his unconcealed desire.
The great merchant Xaro's eyes, narrowed into slits, seemed to sparkle as he expressed his amazement at the dragons' body heat.
Overall, the guests were highly satisfied with Daenerys's hospitality that evening.
As she escorted them back to their quarters, Daenerys told Xaro she would seriously consider the possibility of traveling to Qarth.
"What do you all think?"
Instead of retiring immediately, Daenerys summoned Jorah, the Bloodriders, several elders, and three handmaidens for a council meeting on whether to go to Qarth.
Unlike other Khaos, who often dismissed elders as useless burdens, Daenerys highly valued those who had survived in the harsh environment of the Great Grass Sea for over sixty years.
Apart from Watson's slight misjudgment, the horseman Avanti and the blacksmith Solomon proved to be tremendous surprises.
Avanti, for example, was an absolute miracle worker with horses.
In the desolate Red Waste, the horses not only survived but actually increased in number by over a dozen foals within a few months.
In modern times, world-renowned racing stables would probably kill each other to get their hands on him.
Solomon was a green-haired, green-eyed foreigner.
The Dothraki had no blacksmiths of their own and had always relied on foreign slaves to repair their weapons. When Drogo's father requested a gift from Qohor, the city-state's Trade Prince sent Solomon, who had been imprisoned for his crimes, as part of the tribute.
After Valyria's destruction in the Doom, Qohor's blacksmithing techniques became the world's finest.
The brothels of Lys, the crafts of Myr, the fabrics and blacksmiths of Qohor, the spices and dairy products of Pentos, the Iron Bank of Braavos, the slaves of Volantis...
The nine Free Cities naturally traded in everything, but each had its own specialties.
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