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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 619/751
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Dothraki
hooves
had
torn
the
earth
and
trampled
the
rye
and
lentils
into
the
ground
,
while
arakhs
and
arrows
had
sown
a
terrible
new
crop
and
watered
it
with
blood
.
Dying
horses
lifted
their
heads
and
screamed
at
her
as
she
rode
past
.
Wounded
men
moaned
and
prayed
.
Jaqqa
rhan
moved
among
them
,
the
mercy
men
with
their
heavy
axes
,
taking
a
harvest
of
heads
from
the
dead
and
dying
alike
.
After
them
would
scurry
a
flock
of
small
girls
,
pulling
arrows
from
the
corpses
to
fill
their
baskets
.
Last
of
all
the
dogs
would
come
sniffing
,
lean
and
hungry
,
the
feral
pack
that
was
never
far
behind
the
khalasar
.
The
sheep
had
been
dead
longest
.
There
seemed
to
be
thousands
of
them
,
black
with
flies
,
arrow
shafts
bristling
from
each
carcass
.
Khal
Ogo
's
riders
had
done
that
,
Dany
knew
;
no
man
of
Drogo
's
khalasar
would
be
such
a
fool
as
to
waste
his
arrows
on
sheep
when
there
were
shepherds
yet
to
kill
.
The
town
was
afire
,
black
plumes
of
smoke
roiling
and
tumbling
as
they
rose
into
a
hard
blue
sky
.
Beneath
broken
walls
of
dried
mud
,
riders
galloped
back
and
forth
,
swinging
their
long
whips
as
they
herded
the
survivors
from
the
smoking
rubble
.
The
women
and
children
of
Ogo
's
khalasar
walked
with
a
sullen
pride
,
even
in
defeat
and
bondage
;
they
were
slaves
now
,
but
they
seemed
not
to
fear
it
.
It
was
different
with
the
townsfolk
.
Dany
pitied
them
;
she
remembered
what
terror
felt
like
.
Mothers
stumbled
along
with
blank
,
dead
faces
,
pulling
sobbing
children
by
the
hand
.
There
were
only
a
few
men
among
them
,
cripples
and
cowards
and
grandfathers
.
Ser
Jorah
said
the
people
of
this
country
named
themselves
the
Lhazareen
,
but
the
Dothraki
called
them
haesh
rakhi
,
the
Lamb
Men
.
Once
Dany
might
have
taken
them
for
Dothraki
,
for
they
had
the
same
copper
skin
and
almond-shaped
eyes
.
Now
they
looked
alien
to
her
,
squat
and
flat-faced
,
their
black
hair
cropped
unnaturally
short
.
They
were
herders
of
sheep
and
eaters
of
vegetables
,
and
Khal
Drogo
said
they
belonged
south
of
the
river
bend
.
The
grass
of
the
Dothraki
sea
was
not
meant
for
sheep
.
Dany
saw
one
boy
bolt
and
run
for
the
river
.
A
rider
cut
him
off
and
turned
him
,
and
the
others
boxed
him
in
,
cracking
their
whips
in
his
face
,
running
him
this
way
and
that
.
One
galloped
behind
him
,
lashing
him
across
the
buttocks
until
his
thighs
ran
red
with
blood
.
Another
snared
his
ankle
with
a
lash
and
sent
him
sprawling
.
Finally
,
when
the
boy
could
only
crawl
,
they
grew
bored
of
the
sport
and
put
an
arrow
through
his
back
.
Ser
Jorah
met
her
outside
the
shattered
gate
.
He
wore
a
dark
green
surcoat
over
his
mail
.
His
gauntlets
,
greaves
,
and
greathelm
were
dark
grey
steel
.
The
Dothraki
had
mocked
him
for
a
coward
when
he
donned
his
armor
,
but
the
knight
had
spit
insults
right
back
in
their
teeth
,
tempers
had
flared
,
longsword
had
clashed
with
arakh
,
and
the
rider
whose
taunts
had
been
loudest
had
been
left
behind
to
bleed
to
death
.
Ser
Jorah
lifted
the
visor
of
his
flat-topped
greathelm
as
he
rode
up
.
"
Your
lord
husband
awaits
you
within
the
town
.
"
"
Drogo
took
no
harm
?
"
