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Chapter 43: Histories of the East
🕑 Added 2025-09-08 09:05:18 +0000 UTCThe Jogos Nhai were, in many ways, a distorted reflection of the Dothraki. They were a savage, nomadic people who plundered the city-states that bordered their lands. They were led by chieftains they called jhats, lived in yurt-like tents, and had a sallow, yellowish cast to their skin. But where the Dothraki were tall and graceful, the Jogos Nhai were short and stout. And where the Dothraki were famed for their handsome, brutal features, the Jogos Nhai were, to Dany’s eye, monstrously ugly, their heads bound in childhood to give them a pointed, conical shape. They were not horse-people; they rode ferocious black-and-white zorses into battle. They were the zorse-people.
And yet, in some ways, she found their customs admirable. That evening, at a small feast held in their honor, she decided to use them as a lesson.
"Honored guests," she said, her voice warm, gesturing to where Aggo and her other Dothraki sat scowling, "please, tell my people. How do the great Jogos Nhai maintain the unity of their nation?"
The two guests beamed, flattered by her praise and her sincere, curious tone. The older of the two, a man with a grey beard and shrewd eyes, took the lead.
"I understand your meaning, Khaleesi. Your people are fierce, but a khalasar is like a sand dune, always shifting. The bravery of one man cannot match the unity of a whole tribe." He leaned forward. "Your Dothraki lack a proper marriage system. An ordinary horseman has no wife, no true children. He has no blood to bind him to the khalasar. And blood, as you know, is the strongest bond in the world."
Dany nodded, glancing at her bloodriders, who were listening with ill-concealed resentment.
"Most of our tribes are bound by blood," the old man continued. "They last for centuries. Our war-chiefs, the jhats, are chosen from among the sons of the previous jhat. A jhat with many wives will have many sons, and from them, a strong successor is always found."
"That is a wise system," Dany said approvingly, hoping her Dothraki were taking note. "We could learn from it."
Puffed up with pride, the old man became even more expansive. "The jhat is but the leader of a single tribe. Above all the jhats, there is the jhattar, the war-chief of all war-chiefs. He commands all the tribes, and when we face a great enemy, the Jogos Nhai move as one people, a single rope of twisted steel."
"Then there must have been many great, heroic jhattars in your history," Dany prompted, settling in. She knew what was coming. Every nation, no matter how savage, wove grand, epic poems about their ancestors. She sipped her wine and waited for the boasting to begin.
The old man practically danced in his seat. "Ah, Great Mother of Dragons, you are so wise! It takes a wise soul to recognize the wisdom of another!"
My skin is not nearly as thick as yours, she thought, but she smiled modestly.
"The kingdom of the necromancers of Nefer," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "was beaten by our ancestors until only one city remained, a foul place hidden mostly underground! And do not underestimate necromancers. Do you know of the Long Night that covered the world, thousands of years ago?"
"The White Walkers," Jorah exclaimed, startled.
"Heh," the old man chuckled. "The living dead you fear are but the handiwork of necromancers. It is said the Long Night itself was summoned by the Bloodstone Emperor of Yi Ti, with the help of those very same men of Nefer. And yet, our people almost wiped them from the earth."
Truly? Dany thought, skeptical. Yi Ti was a world away from Westeros. How could the White Walkers have traveled so far?
"We also destroyed the Patrimony of Hyrkoon," the stocky old man continued proudly.
"Forgive my ignorance," Dany asked, "but what is the Patrimony of Hyrkoon?"
"Ah, even as an enemy, we must admit the greatness of Hyrkoon the Hero," the old man sighed. "Khaleesi, do you know the tale of the hero’s red sword?"
She searched her memory. "You mean… Lightbringer?"
Jorah’s eyes went wide. "Eight thousand years ago," he recited, "during the Long Night, a hero arose. Azor Ahai. He wielded a sword of living fire, and with it, he defeated the darkness and brought back the dawn."
"The very same," the old man nodded. "Azor Ahai is what you call him in the west. In the east, he is Hyrkoon. Every nation has a name for him. And his descendants founded a great kingdom. But we, the Jogos Nhai, destroyed it! Only three fortress-cities remain of that ancient line. I myself, as a young man, fought at the siege of Kayakayanaya for three years!"
Dany was genuinely impressed. Compared to this, the Dothraki boast of stealing statues seemed pathetic.
"But those were small kingdoms," the old man said, waving a dismissive hand. "The true overlord of the east is the Golden Empire of Yi Ti. A land of a thousand gods and a hundred princes, all ruled by the one God-Emperor. When Yi Ti was at its height, the Valyrians were still shepherds! The God-Emperor’s army was a force beyond imagining, his wealth was boundless, and his palace was larger than your entire city of King's Landing, with floors paved in solid gold."
"Your Excellency," Jorah interjected, his northern pride clearly stung, "have you been to King's Landing?"
The old man glanced at him coolly. "I have. I shall never forget the smell of feces and rotting fish."
Dany brought the topic back. "And did the brave Jogos Nhai destroy this Golden Empire as well?"
"No," the old man said, shaking his head with a mixture of pride and frustration. "For thousands of years, we have raided their northern border, and forced them to move their capital south, but we could never break them. Once, a great emperor arose among them, Lo Bu. He was so powerful that even we, the rebellious Jogos Nhai, had to pay him tribute. But he was not content with tribute. He said that we were a people who respected strength but not honor, that if we submitted today, we would surely raid again tomorrow."
Dany nodded. The emperor sounded like a sensible man.
"He was right, of course," the old man admitted with a blunt shrug. "When the empire is strong, we submit. When it weakens, we plunder. It is the way of the world. The strong prey upon the weak." He took a deep drink of wine. "But this Emperor Lo Bu… he was not trying to bully us. He meant to wipe our people from the face of the earth, to commit genocide against us." He slapped his thigh, his face a mask of old fury. "Now that is truly bullying!"
Daenerys sighed. Since the old man was here to tell the tale, then the ambitious Emperor Lo Bu, for all his strength and wisdom, must have failed.
