Those who purchased Unsullied typically integrated them into their existing armies, using their own military structures and regulations to manage them through their officers. Yet, in most cases, the purchaser's command system was far inferior to that of the Unsullied.
Qohor City was no exception. Without a few officers purchased along with the Unsullied, even the garrison could not maintain unity.
"Worm, worm, what color are you today?"
"After the Dothraki barbarians leave, I'll buy all the virgins in Qohor's finest pleasure houses for you, haha."
"Their first day belongs to the worm; the second day, they can belong to us."
"Oh, Black Goat… the smell of the Dothraki is unbearable; I can't keep drinking, I feel sick."
For nine days, the Dothraki had surrounded the city without launching an assault, and the Qohor-born noble officers resumed their old habits. Perhaps the stress of war intensified their vices.
Whenever Commander Serlo Kote attended noble meetings or feasts, the officers would drink excessively, laugh recklessly, and mock the Unsullied officers wearing spiked helmets.
The Unsullied wore no decorations. Their tight-waisted tunics, short swords, three long spears, shields, and spiked helmets were all they possessed. The number of spikes indicated rank; three spikes meant a senior officer.
Seeing that the Unsullied remained dutiful and unaffected by mockery, the noble officers became even more enraged.
Commander Serlo Kote trusted the "worms" completely. Upon taking command, he immediately revoked the management authority of the noble officers, transferring it to the expressionless three-spiked "worm."
A drunken Qohor noble officer staggered to his feet, face twisted, slurring his words:
"Worm… know this: the one who bought you was my father. Answer your ancestors' question. What color are you today? Gray, yellow, or white?"
The Unsullied lost their original names the moment they were purchased as slaves. Each day, they drew a name from a bucket at random, consisting of two words—one indicating a color, the other "worm."
The noble officer tried to seize the "worm," but alcohol had dulled his nerves. Perhaps also intimidated by the worm's unyielding stare, he could only clumsily continue:
"When you were castrated, were you completely cut? When they burned your private parts to ashes, did you feel regret? I heard of a boy who, on the day he was castrated, received a puppy to raise. By the end of the first year of training, the boy must strangle the puppy. If he fails, he is killed. Worm… you wear the Unsullied spike helmet, yet you were spared from being dog feed. How truly cruel you are."
The "worm" ignored the shouting, while the noble officer's comrades knew the city's defense relied on the Unsullied, so they restrained the drunken man.
It was insufficient. His father was among Qohor's most powerful nobles. A lowly "worm" had stolen his rank and glory. The officer pressed close to the Unsullied's dark face, gnashing his teeth:
"That day, you came to the slave market wearing a silver mask, bought a newborn, and killed him before his mother. Was it satisfying to compensate the slave owner? Haha!"
He laughed wildly.
The Unsullied officer glanced toward the dark city outskirts, then descended the wall in a perfect military posture, ignoring the noble officer. Trained from the age of five, he had long lost emotion and self. Yet his military knowledge meant he still lacked experience for some aspects of city defense.
For example, torches should have been regularly thrown outside to prevent night raids. But he was merely a "white worm," obedient to his master's orders, devoid of personality or feelings.
The Noble Courtyards
The entire mansion was guarded by Unsullied, with twelve-foot-high brick walls surrounding it. Ivy gardens and flowering trees encircled marble pools, adorned with painted marble statues of elegant boys. Occasional barking revealed a kennel hidden in the back.
The Mansion's Banquet Hall
Long white candles lit the hall as brightly as daylight. A luxurious tapestry depicting Qohor's three thousand heroes hung on the wall, woven from wool, silk, and gold and silver threads, cherished by nobles as a family treasure.
Young girls and noblewomen in silk skirts laughed, their perfume filling the air.
"Let us toast Commander Serlo Kote. It is his wisdom and bravery that keeps the Dothraki barbarians from the city walls."
The mansion's host, a short, portly, bald man soaked in perfume, wearing yellow silk with gold tassels, raised his glass, urging a lively atmosphere.
Serlo Kote was not happy. The calm before the storm was unnerving. The Dothraki had not attacked like raging bulls; that was the most frightening scenario.
Yet, as a noble himself, he had to maintain appearances. Defense depended on these "worms," after all, all purchased with noble money.
"Raise your glasses again. The followers of the Black Goat have thwarted the Light King Rahlro's heretical plots."
Serlo Kote's face was pale. He had come willingly to warn the nobles: Rahlro's followers still lurked, quietly gathering strength. The evening disturbances were likely distractions; they surely had other plans.
"Noble friends, lower your glasses. Let us pray to the Black Goat to bless Qohor's fleet's return, to ensure its landing, and to strike the Dothraki hard. The Black Goat still guards Qohor City."
Serlo Kote wanted only to smash his glass onto the bald, fat man's face. How dare he boast about landing operations in front of everyone!
Moreover, Qohor had lost contact with the fleet three days ago. Yet the nobles naïvely assumed the fleet was pressing northward, too busy to worry.
The Dothraki, however, could not blockade the river gates near the Quen.
The nobles countered: the Dothraki had no fleet, posing no threat.
Serlo Kote felt helpless, and frustrated, he drank deeply from his jug.
Qohor, peaceful for four centuries—what can save you now?