A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

studded with golden eyes. All opened at Dany’s approach. As she rode her
silver into the city, small children rushed out to scatter flowers in her path.
They wore golden sandals and bright paint, no more.
    All the colors that had been missing from Vaes Tolorro had found their way to
Qarth; buildings crowded about her fantastical as a fever dream in shades of
rose, violet, and umber. She passed under a bronze arch fashioned in the
likeness of two snakes mating, their scales delicate flakes of jade, obsidian,
and lapis lazuli. Slim towers stood taller than any Dany had ever seen, and
elaborate fountains filled every square, wrought in the shapes of griffins and
dragons and manticores.
    The Qartheen lined the streets and watched from delicate balconies that looked
too frail to support their weight. They were tall pale folk in linen and samite
and tiger fur, every one a lord or lady to her eyes. The women wore gowns that
left one breast bare, while the men favored beaded silk skirts. Dany felt
shabby and barbaric as she rode past them in her lionskin robe with black
Drogon on one shoulder. Her Dothraki called the

Qartheen “Milk Men” for their paleness, and Khal Drogo had dreamed of the day
when he might sack the great cities of the east. She glanced at her
bloodriders, their dark almond-shaped eyes giving no hint of their thoughts.
Is it only the plunder they see?
she wondered.
How savage we
must seem to these Qartheen.
    Pyrat Pree conducted her little
khalasar
down the center of a great
arcade where the city’s ancient heroes stood thrice life-size on columns of
white and green marble. They passed through a bazaar in a cavernous building
whose latticework ceiling was home to a thousand gaily colored birds. Trees and
flowers bloomed on the terraced walls above the stalls, while below it seemed
as if everything the gods had put into the world was for sale.
    Her silver shied as the merchant prince Xaro Xhoan Daxos rode up to her; the
horses could not abide the close presence of camels, she had found. “If you
see here anything that you would desire, O most beautiful of women, you have
only to speak and it is yours,” Xaro called down from his ornate horned
saddle.
    â€œQarth itself is hers, she has no need of baubles,” blue-lipped Pyat Pree
sang out from her other side. “It shall be as I promised,
Khaleesi.
Come with me to the House of the Undying, and you shall drink of truth and
wisdom.”
    â€œWhy should she need your Palace of Dust, when I can give her sunlight and
sweet water and silks to sleep in?” Xaro said to the warlock. “The Thirteen
shall set a crown of black jade and fire opals upon her lovely
head.”
    â€œThe only palace I desire is the red castle at King’s

Landing, my lord Pyat.” Dany was wary of the warlock; the
maegi
Mirri Maz Duur had soured her on those who played at sorcery. “And if the
great of Qarth would give me gifts, Xaro, let them give me ships and swords to
win back what is rightfully mine.”
    Pyat’s blue lips curled upward in a gracious smile. “It shall be as you
command,
Khaleesi.
” He moved away, swaying with his camel’s motion,
his long beaded robes trailing behind.
    â€œThe young queen is wise beyond her years,” Xaro Xhoan Daxos murmured down at
her from his high saddle. “There is a saying in Qarth. A warlock’s house is
built of bones and lies.”
    â€œThen why do men lower their voices when they speak of the warlocks of Qarth?
All across the east, their power and wisdom are revered.”
    â€œOnce they were mighty,” Xaro agreed, “but now they are as ludicrous as
those feeble old soldiers who boast of their prowess long after strength and
skill have left them. They read their crumbling scrolls, drink
shade-of-the-evening until their lips turn blue, and hint of dread powers, but
they are hollow husks compared to those who went before. Pyat Pree’s gifts will
turn to dust in your hands, I warn you.” He gave his camel a lick of his whip
and sped away.
    â€œThe crow calls the raven black,” muttered Ser Jorah in the Common Tongue of
Westeros. The exile knight rode at her right hand, as ever. For their entrance
into Qarth, he had put away his Dothraki garb and donned again the plate and
mail and wool of the Seven Kingdoms half a world away. “You would do well to
avoid

both those men, Your