The slave trader could not understand what Whitebeard had said, but from his tone and expression it was obvious that it was not favorable to his business.
"What did that smelly old man say?" Kraznys asked the little translator.
After the young girl explained, the fat slave master stomped his foot angrily.
"That rotten old man is up to no good!"
"Tell that western barbarian that what we call the Unsullied's behavior is obedience. I know Andal knights are famous, but even if a knight is stronger, faster, and more skilled in combat than an Unsullied, there is one thing he can never match: absolute obedience and absolute loyalty.
"And ask that woman this: if her father's soldiers had been as obedient as my good slaves, would she be wandering the world like a stray dog?"
He drained a cup of chilled grape wine and let out a satisfied sigh before adding:
"Of course, be careful with your wording. Don't let my honored guests feel even the slightest offense."
The little translator stammered through the translation. Somehow she conveyed every bit of the meaning while removing all the insults. Even Daenerys felt sorry for her.
This girl has a difficult job.
Arstan smiled coldly.
"If I wanted something gentle and obedient, I'd buy sheep."
After hearing the translation, Kraznys grinned broadly, showing off his large white teeth.
"With a single command, these sheep would tear open his belly and spill his stinking intestines across the bricks."
The little translator softened it:
"The Unsullied are not sheep. They possess the ferocity and loyalty of dogs."
"Hunting dogs?" Daenerys murmured.
She slowly walked along the ranks of slave soldiers, examining them one by one.
The girl holding a sunshade followed closely behind her, keeping her in the shade. The contrast reminded Daenerys that the Unsullied had stood beneath the blazing sun for an entire day and morning without any protection.
More than half of them had the bronze skin and almond-shaped eyes of Dothraki or Lhazareen people. Clearly, the Dothraki khalasars had made a significant contribution to the slave trade.
The rest came from all over the world: pale-skinned men from the Free Cities, milk-white Qartheen, black islanders from the Summer Isles, and even one or two yellow-skinned, sharp-featured Jogos Nhai.
There were also Ghiscari men among them, sharing the amber skin and red-black hair of their masters.
Even their own people are not spared, Daenerys thought.
All the Unsullied were clean-shaven and expressionless.
Though they varied in height and age—from fourteen to twenty—they seemed as though they had all been molded from the same template.
Their appearances differed, but their souls had been forced into the same shape.
"Why are they castrated?" she asked through the translator.
"Everyone knows men are stronger than eunuchs."
For once, Kraznys became serious.
"What is most important for a warrior? Strength?
"A bull is strong, yet every day bulls die in the fighting pits.
"Just three days ago, a nine-year-old girl killed a wild bull in the Yhoshir fighting pit.
"The ancient Ghiscari Empire proved through conquest that discipline is far more important than strength.
"The Unsullied are the rebirth of the disciplined Ghiscari legions—absolutely obedient, absolutely loyal, completely fearless."
Daenerys silently admitted he had a point.
History offered countless examples that discipline was the foundation of military power.
"Even the bravest man fears death and injury," Arstan argued.
Kraznys bared his teeth in another grin.
"Tell that smelly old man that he reeks of urine and needs a rotten stick just to stand upright. He's more crippled than the crippled and ought to throw himself into the sea."
The translator sighed.
"Do you really want me to say that, master?"
The slave master jabbed her with his whip.
"Are you a woman or a sheep? What kind of stupid question is that? If you offend my customers, who will buy my slaves?"
"Then how should I put it, master?" the girl asked timidly.
"Tell them this: the Unsullied are not men. Death means nothing to them, and injury matters even less."
As she translated, Kraznys descended the nearby steps and stopped before a powerful slave soldier.
Without warning, he lashed the man's face with a silver whip, opening a bloody wound.
The eunuch merely blinked.
Blood ran down his cheek, but he did not move.
"How does that feel?" Kraznys mocked.
"Want another one?"
"If it pleases my master, continue," the Unsullied replied.
When Kraznys raised the whip again, Daenerys hurried forward and caught his arm.
"Please tell the Good Master that I understand their courage."
After hearing the translation, Kraznys chuckled.
"Tell this ignorant western woman that it has nothing to do with courage."
"The Good Master says it is not courage, Your Grace."
"Tell her to open her dog eyes and look carefully."
He moved to another soldier—a tall young man with Lysene blue eyes and flaxen hair.
"Give me your sword."
The Unsullied knelt and presented the weapon hilt-first.
"Stand."
The man rose immediately.
Smiling toward Daenerys, Kraznys slowly drew the blade across the soldier's torso, leaving a thin red line.
Unsatisfied, he pressed harder, sawing back and forth.
Blood streamed from the wound.
"Seven hells!" Daenerys cried.
"What are you doing?"
"Tell that cow not to make such a fuss," Kraznys said impatiently.
"Men don't need it. Eunuchs need it even less."
Though blood poured from his chest, the soldier remained motionless.
Only when Kraznys returned the sword did he react.
"Take it."
"I am honored to serve my master," the slave soldier replied.
Turning back to Daenerys, Kraznys explained:
"See? They feel no pain.
"We have a magical drink called Wine of Courage, made from belladonna, bloodfly larvae, black lotus root, and other secret ingredients.
"From the day they are castrated, they drink it with every meal.
"Day after day. Year after year.
"Until sensation fades.
"Until battle no longer frightens them.
"Until no torture can break them."
He continued boasting:
"You can entrust any secret to an Unsullied. Let them guard your council chamber—or even your bedroom—and never worry about eavesdropping.
"In Yunkai and Meereen, such men cannot breed. That would only cause trouble.
"We leave them with nothing.
"The Unsullied are the purest animals in the world.
"The whore queen may use them without concern."
Daenerys found herself wondering whether she should feed this man to Drogon, Rhaegal, or Viserion.
The little translator swayed slightly before carefully softening his words and conveying them.
"Monster!" Whitebeard growled, striking the ground with his staff.
"The old man insulted you, master," the little slave girl said nervously.
Kraznys burst into laughter.
"I hear that in your barbaric western lands there are people who swear chastity and live without wives or children. Is that true?"
After the translation, Whitebeard nodded.
"Yes. Many such orders exist: the maesters of the Citadel, septons and septas of the Faith, the Silent Sisters, the Kingsguard, and the Night's Watch."
The slave trader's voice deepened.
"Human beings are not meant to live that way.
"They suffer temptation every day.
"Oaths are worthless.
"Sooner or later, most men surrender to their desires.
"But the Unsullied are different.
"The bond between them and their weapons is stronger than a thousand vows.
"No woman. No man. Nothing can tempt them."
Whitebeard sneered.
"Do you not know that beyond the desires of the flesh there are countless other ways to tempt a person?"
"Yes," Kraznys replied.
"There are many temptations.
"But the Unsullied are different.
"They own nothing except their weapons.
"They do not even have names.
"Money, women, power, food—none of it means anything to them."
"No names?" Daenerys frowned.
"Then how do I address them?"
The translator answered:
"Your Grace, they do not have permanent names."
Kraznys stopped before a Ghiscari soldier whose appearance closely resembled his own.
"Look here," he said, pointing with his whip at the small bronze token hanging from the soldier's belt.
"If you want to know his name, read the token.
"Ask this Westerosi woman whether she can read Ghiscari pictographs."
"I cannot," Daenerys admitted.
Kraznys frowned and turned to the soldier.
"What is your name?"
"Red Flea, master."
"What was it yesterday?"
"Black Rat, master."
"And the day before?"
"Brown Flea, master."
"And before that?"
"I do not remember, master. Perhaps Blue Toad. Perhaps Blue Worm. Or Shield."
"Tell her this," Kraznys said.
"Their names are always things like worms, rats, toads, and insects.
"It constantly reminds them that they are nothing but vermin.
"Every evening the name tokens are thrown into a barrel.
"At dawn they draw new ones at random.
"They are worth less than the insects they are named after."