"My lord—no, I an, Prince," Jhaqo stamred, his voice trembling as he tried to mimic the respectful tone of a rchant. But fear gripped him tightly. Above, the dark clouds parted, and the moon erged behind Viserys, casting a shadow over Jhaqo that felt as heavy as a mountain.
Bang.
Jhaqo's cheeks twitched uncontrollably as Viserys, rather than killing him, ordered him to be taken away. With their commander captured, the remaining Dothraki were unable to mount any effective resistance.
Conwyra led the Unsullied, moving like a massive steel rake across the slope, scouring the battlefield twice. anwhile, Caggo led the cavalry in pursuit of the fleeing Dothraki. As night deepened, the stench of blood began to perate the air, so strong it drew wolves from miles away.
Under the officers' commands, Viserys's army systematically decapitated the fallen horsen. The pile of severed heads grew higher and higher, eventually forming a small hill. The yellow soil eagerly drank the blood that seeped into it.
Jhaqo stood atop the hill with Viserys, teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown. He had once beheaded others without hesitation, but now, the heads being severed were those of his own people. Even more disturbing was the chanical efficiency of the beheadings, resembling a grueso assembly line. So soldiers stripped valuables from the bodies, others carried them, while still others perford the cutting and collected the heads.
Adding to Jhaqo's bewildernt, Viserys ordered the Dothraki warriors' braids to be cut off, though their purpose remained unclear to him.
At dawn, Conwyra presented Viserys with the final count.
"Master, we have beheaded 2,741 and captured 272 alive. The bodies have been collected and are ready for disposal."
Viserys took the bow and arrows Conwyra handed him, and Caggo offered him a lit torch. Lighting the arrow, Viserys shot it into the pile of Dothraki bodies.
The burning arrow traced a path of orange light through the air before sinking into the mound of corpses. As soon as it made contact, yellow flas erupted, engulfing the pile like a python swallowing its prey whole.
Jhaqo stood dazed, the scene before him hollowing him out like a shell devoid of a soul. He looked utterly lost. In a single night, more than 3,000 of his people had perished—not only the elite warriors he had handpicked from his khalasar but also those given to him by Khal Drogo.
He knew that even if he returned, there would be no rcy for him.
Viserys watched the pile of burning corpses and commanded, "Cut off their thumbs and big toes, and throw them into the fire."
The coldness of his order sent a chill through Jhaqo's heart.
"Yes, my lord," ca the reply.
Monts later, the screams of the prisoners echoed across the camp. For a Dothraki, losing their thumbs and big toes was a crippling punishnt, stripping them of their ability to run, jump, or control the reins. In the harsh conditions of the Grass Sea, such injuries would almost certainly lead to infection, rendering them completely useless.
This was Viserys's punishnt.
As Jhaqo watched hundreds of severed thumbs being tossed into the flas, his fear of Viserys peaked. It was the primal fear of prey confronting a natural predator. When Viserys turned and walked toward him, Jhaqo’s body began to tremble uncontrollably, his muscles nearly seizing from sheer terror.
In the original novel, after the Horselord beca incapacitated, Jhaqo had been the first to seize the opportunity, leading over 10,000 n away and declaring himself Khal. Ambitious and shrewd, he was acutely aware of danger. Now, as the scent of steel and tobacco reached him from Viserys, his legs weakened, barely able to support him.
"Pri... Prince," Jhaqo stamred, his voice quivering.
"I won't kill you," Viserys replied calmly. "Go back and tell Drogo that if he still considers himself a warrior, he should not make life difficult for the poor civilians. Let him fight one-on-one. If I lose, everything I have is his. If he loses, I won’t take his life, but he must agree never to cross the Forest of Qohor."
At Viserys's demand, Caggo's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Forbidding the Dothraki from crossing the Forest of Qohor would effectively halve their territory, cutting them off from the more fertile lands—akin to the Huns losing the Qilian and Yanzhi Mountains.
Viserys's terms were severe, but Jhaqo was too focused on surviving to concern himself with the implications.
"Yes, yes, Prince," Jhaqo stuttered, his voice trembling. He was given two horses and watched as Viserys let him ride east with a group of crippled prisoners.
At that mont, Caggo stepped forward and asked, "Prince, do you really intend to fight Drogo?"
Viserys smiled and responded, "Do you want to be a Khal?"
Caggo hesitated, confused by the question, but sothing long dormant ignited within him—a fla rekindled in his heart.
The vast Dothraki Sea of Grass rivaled the size of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. Viserys knew he couldn’t directly govern such an imnse territory. Instead, he planned to support his own allies and influence Dothraki affairs from a distance, a strategy that would yield greater benefits. The animal skins from the Grass Sea would beco valuable "strategic materials" under his control.
By planting this seed of ambition, Viserys had awakened Caggo's desire, but he left his question unanswered. Mounting his horse, Viserys took with him more than 3,000 captured horses and over 2,000 severed heads, returning to Tyrosh. He intended to use those heads to construct a monuntal cenotaph.
...
Vaes Dothrak, the largest city of the Dothraki, was unlike any other city. It had no walls and sprawled across a vast area around the "Mother of Mountains" and the "Womb of the World." Its crude buildings, made of wood and stone, were tall yet rudintary, with so even constructed from special grasses. Despite intricate carvings, there was little that could be called artistic.
These structures were built by slaves captured by the Dothraki.
News of Jhaqo's defeat sent shockwaves through Vaes Dothrak. The loss of 3,000 warriors cast a dark shadow over the city. At that ti, four Khals ruled the Great Grass Sea, and Drogo had summoned them, though their combined strength was still inferior to his own.
The Khals, along with their sons, Kos, and Bloodriders, gathered in a massive circular wooden building that served as the Dothraki’s "Great Hall of the Council." A large circular skylight dominated the center of the hall, designed not only for lighting but also because the Dothraki believed that all their deeds must be witnessed by the sky.
This hall hosted the most important etings and ceremonies. It was here that the Mother of Dragons had eaten a horse’s heart, and where Viserys had been crowned in molten gold.
As the Khals assembled, Drogo had yet to appear. A burly Khal nad Ogo spoke first, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You return with only 300 n, and they’re all crippled. Are your people blind, or are all your horses la? How dare you show your face here?"
He sneered at Jhaqo, whose face was wrapped in coarse cloth, mocking his shaful return.
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