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Chapter 44: A Conqueror's Example
🕑 Added 2025-09-08 09:11:15 +0000 UTC"Emperor Lo Bu assembled an army of three hundred thousand men," the old Jogos Nhai said, his voice dropping low, "and he marched them onto our plains in thirteen great columns. Their orders were simple: genocide. They killed everything they saw. Man, woman, child, even the slaves of our slaves. The tribes they met were harvested like wheat beneath a scythe. Our people were slaughtered, our zorses stolen, our camps burned. The green plains turned black with ash."
The old man paused, and a heavy silence fell over the hall. "Millions," he whispered, his voice thick with an ancient grief. "At least nine of every ten Jogos Nhai died in that time. The plains themselves seemed to weep, and the blood of our people was its tears."
"But in the end," Dany said softly, "the great Jogos Nhai were victorious." She was offering a simple courtesy, a host's comfort to a guest. In truth, she felt nothing. This Golden Empire of Yi Ti was a world away, a name in a story. She found herself critiquing the dead emperor’s strategy. Why invade with the sole purpose of murder? she thought. He should have turned the tribes against one another, propped up a puppet chieftain, and let them destroy themselves. To simply kill is a fool’s errand. The grass will always grow back, and with it, new tribes.
"We felt the hand of extinction upon us," the old man continued, his voice growing passionate again as he reached the story's turning point. "And so, the Jogos Nhai did what we had never done before. We united. All the tribes, under the command of the great Zhea."
Dany sat up straighter, her curiosity piqued. "You united only then? After so many had died?"
The old man waved his hand dismissively. "Ah, Khaleesi, forgive me, I have told the story out of order. At that time, we had no great leader, no jhattar. We were like the Dothraki are today, each tribe for itself, the jhats warring against each other as often as they raided outsiders. It was Emperor Lo Bu himself who forged us into a single weapon. His relentless slaughter forced us to change, and from that fire, the first jhattar was born."
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "And I think none of you would guess that the first jhattar, our great Zhea, was a woman."
A thrill went through Daenerys. She glanced at her Dothraki, who were listening with rapt, sullen attention. Listen to this, you fools, she thought, a fierce, private joy rising in her. This is the lesson. This is what matters.
"A woman of legend," Dany said aloud, unable to keep the admiration from her voice. "Truly an example for women everywhere."
The old man, thinking she was merely praising his ancestor, beamed, his wrinkled face creasing like a joyful chrysanthemum. "Emperor Lo Bu was a great conqueror, but Zhea the Plainswoman was braver and more cunning. She devised a strategy of 'one scatters, one gathers.' First, she ordered the tribes to disperse into countless small bands, to hide in the vastness of the plains and wage a guerrilla war. We burned the pastures, intercepted their scouts, poisoned their water sources. We bled them, starved them, and made them thirsty."
He took a deep breath. "You must understand, Khaleesi, even united, we could not have met even one of Lo Bu's thirteen armies in open battle and hoped to win. So Zhea forced them to divide their strength to chase our ghosts."
"And then you gathered your forces again," Dany finished for him.
"Exactly!" the old man cried. "She would gather all our elite warriors in one place and fall upon a single, isolated Yi Ti army with overwhelming force. We would destroy it, melt back into the plains, and do it again. After she had annihilated three of his armies this way, Emperor Lo Bu grew desperate. He received reports that our main force was harassing his fourth army, and he fell for the bait. He led his own royal guard on a forced march to crush us once and for all. He did not know that he was marching into a trap that Zhea had laid for him, in a narrow pass between two hills."
"In that battle, Emperor Lo Bu's entire army was wiped out. He himself was killed by Zhea’s own hand. After that, the war was over. The Yi Ti army without its emperor was a dragon without a head. Our zorse-riders would gallop to the front of their lines holding the emperor’s crowned head on a spear, and the enemy would break and flee before we even charged. The great plains became the graveyard of three hundred thousand invading soldiers."
The old man raised his wine cup, his eyes blazing. "And that was not the end! Zhea led our warriors into Yi Ti itself. For years, she plundered their lands, repaying the blood-debt tenfold. The great scarlet dynasty of Lo Bu came to an end, and since that day, no nation has dared to invade our lands."
Jorah curled his lip, clearly skeptical of the numbers, but Dany was entranced. This, she thought, is a leader. This was a story she needed her Dothraki to remember.
"Our jhattar," the old man said, a grim pride in his voice, "has a treasure, passed down from Zhea herself. A wine cup, made from the gilded skull of Emperor Lo Bu. If you ever visit our plains, Khaleesi, I am certain the jhattar would be honored to serve you from it."
Thank you for the warning, Dany thought with an inward shudder. I will be sure to decline.
"A strange thing," Jorah suddenly interjected. "A few days ago, on the docks, I saw a woman from the east with her son. The boy was misbehaving, and she threatened him, saying, 'If you are not good, Zebra-Face Zhea will come for you in the night.' Is that the same Zhea?"
The old Jogos Nhai laughed, a loud, triumphant sound. "The mother and son were YiTish, were they not? Dressed in silks?" When Jorah confirmed they were, the old man beamed. "Thousands of years later, and they still use her name to frighten their children. 'Zebra-Face Zhea' is but one of her names. They also call her 'Cruel Zhea,' 'Brain-Eating Zhea,' and 'The Devil's Bride.' And because she never married or had a child, they call her 'Barren Zhea'."
He spoke the names with pride, as if they were titles of honor. But Dany felt a chill. She did not want to be remembered as 'Horse-Face Daenerys' or 'Barren Daenerys.' A conqueror's legacy was written by her enemies as often as her friends. I will need my own historians, she decided. She would not let her story be twisted into a monster's tale to frighten naughty children. She would be Daenerys the Wise, Daenerys the Merciful, Mother of the Free, the Breaker of Chains. Thinking of it, a strange, secret smile touched her lips. Zhea was a great example, but in the end, Dany would be greater.
