50.
ILLYRIO When the Khal chooses. When the omens favor war. VISERYS I piss on Dothraki omens. I’ve waited fifteen years to get my throne back. I’m tired of this country, tired of living with savages.
Above them on the ramp, Daenerys steals a glance at Khal Drogo. He seems unaware of her existence, staring at the grass below with no expression on his face. Daenerys turns to see what he’s watching: Dothraki drummers pound on their horseskin drums as a dozen young Dothraki women begin dancing for their Khal. The Dothraki are not a repressed people. The dance is overtly sexual, so overt that a warrior soon steps into the circle, grabs a dancer by the arm, pushes her to the ground and takes her right there in front of the cheering crowd.
Khal Drogo grins and nods. Evidently this is appropriate wedding behavior. Daenerys watches with horror.
Soon a second warrior has grabbed a dancer, and then a third. The trouble begins when two warriors try to lay claim to the same woman. Both men draw their scimitars and begin swinging at each other. The combat is fast, brutal and efficient, the steel blades blurring in the sunlight. Finally one man misses a parry. An instant later his entrails spill onto the dust and he falls.
The victor seizes a girl-- not even the original girl they were fighting over-- and the crowd roars in approval.
Daenerys struggles to keep from vomiting. The platter of blood sausages in front of her do not help.
Illyrio claps politely and explains to Viserys:
ILLYRIO A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is considered a dull affair.
Khal Drogo stands and raises one hand. Instantly the horde goes silent. The only noise is the bleating of a lost sheep.
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