A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

Arbor,”
the herald sang. Ser
Hobber trotted in from the east, riding a black stallion caparisoned in
burgundy and blue. His lance was striped in the same colors, and his shield
bore the grape cluster sigil of his House. The Redwyne twins were the queen’s
unwilling guests, even as Sansa was. She wondered whose notion it had been for
them to ride in Joffrey’s tourney. Not their own, she thought.
    At a signal from the master of revels, the combatants couched their lances and
put their spurs to their mounts. There were shouts from the watching guardsmen
and the lords and ladies in the gallery. The knights came together in the
center of the yard with a great shock of wood and steel. The white lance and
the striped one exploded in splinters within a second of each other. Hobber
Redwyne reeled at the impact, yet somehow managed to keep his seat. Wheeling
their horses about at the far end of the lists, the knights tossed down their
broken lances and

accepted replacements from the squires. Ser Horas Redwyne, Ser
Hobber’s twin,
shouted encouragement to his brother.
    But on their second pass Ser Meryn swung the point of his lance to strike Ser
Hobber in the chest, driving him from the saddle to crash resoundingly to the
earth. Ser Horas cursed and ran out to help his battered brother from the
field.
    â€œPoorly ridden,” declared King Joffrey.
    â€œSer Balon Swann, of Stonehelm in the Red Watch,”
came the herald’s
cry. Wide white wings ornamented Ser Balon’s greathelm, and black and white
swans fought on his shield.
“Morros of House Slynt, heir to Lord Janos of
Harrenhal.”
    â€œLook at that upjumped oaf,” Joff hooted, loud enough for half the yard to
hear. Morros, a mere squire and a new-made squire at that, was having
difficulty managing lance and shield. The lance was a knight’s weapon, Sansa
knew, the Slynts lowborn. Lord Janos had been no more than commander of the
City Watch before Joffrey had raised him to Harrenhal and the
council.
    I hope he falls and shames himself,
she thought bitterly.
I hope
Ser Balon kills him.
When Joffrey proclaimed her father’s death, it had
been Janos Slynt who seized Lord Eddard’s severed head by the hair and raised
it on high for king and crowd to behold, while Sansa wept and
screamed.
    Morros wore a checkered black-and-gold cloak over black armor inlaid with
golden scrollwork. On his shield was the bloody spear his father had chosen as
the sigil of their new-made house. But he did not seem to know what to do with
the shield as he urged

his horse forward, and Ser Balon’s point struck the blazon square. Morros
dropped his lance, fought for balance, and lost. One foot caught in a stirrup
as he fell, and the runaway charger dragged the youth to the end of the lists,
head bouncing against the ground. Joff hooted derision. Sansa was appalled,
wondering if the gods had heard her vengeful prayer. But when they disentangled
Morros Slynt from his horse, they found him bloodied but alive. “Tommen, we
picked the wrong foe for you,” the king told his brother. “The straw knight
jousts better than that one.”
    Next came Ser Horas Redwyne’s turn. He fared better than his twin, vanquishing
an elderly knight whose mount was bedecked with silver griffins against a
striped blue-and-white field. Splendid as he looked, the old man made a poor
contest of it. Joffrey curled his lip. “This is a feeble show.”
    â€œI warned you,” said the Hound. “Gnats.”
    The king was growing bored. It made Sansa anxious. She lowered her eyes and
resolved to keep quiet, no matter what. When Joffrey Baratheon’s mood darkened,
any chance word might set off one of his rages.
    â€œLothor Brune, freerider in the service of Lord
Baelish,”
cried the
herald.
“Ser Dontos the Red, of House Hollard.”
    The freerider, a small man in dented plate without device, duly appeared at the
west end of the yard, but of his opponent there was no sign. Finally a chestnut
stallion trotted into view in a swirl of crimson and scarlet silks, but Ser
Dontos was not on it. The knight appeared a moment later, cursing and
staggering,

clad in breastplate and plumed helm and nothing else. His legs were pale and
skinny, and his manhood flopped about obscenely as he chased after his horse.
The watchers roared and shouted insults. Catching his horse by the bridle, Ser