Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 92: Two Armies Attack, Kill the Envoy First

Rhallor said gravely, "Ser Harry, you are in charge of the Gate of Braavos.

I will give you 1500 men, each equipped with three pots of arrows, and ask you to transport rolling logs, pounding stones, and pitch to the city walls as quickly as possible.

Leave a reserve force to fill the gaps in the defense line. In addition, I will select 200 heavy infantry as a mobile force to block the gaps in the city wall at any time.

Jhogo, you are in charge of Poseidon Castle.

I will give you 1500 men, and deploy the 100 most skilled archers on the top of the tower to snipe at enemy knights and commanders."

Laharo continued, "Gallan! Take 100 men to guard the Guard Command Headquarters. I'll give you another 200 to maintain order within the city. My 400 guards will be on hand to provide support wherever needed."

Then he looked at Lazar, "If Robert breaks through Tidebreaker Tower, we must be wary of him landing troops along the coast. You and Jiku will each lead 1000 light cavalry to patrol the coastline. If we find any enemy traces, harass them immediately!"

A cruel look appeared on Lazar's lips. "Blood of my blood, rest assured, we will make these fools regret ever setting foot on the land of Essos!"

Laharo knew Lazar's relentless character, so he grabbed his arm and whispered in his ear:
"Remember, don't take risks! Even if Pentos is lost, we can still return to the Sea of ​​Grass, ride horses, drink strong wine, and enjoy women to our heart's content. But if you return to the Land of Night so soon, what's the point of me returning to the Sea of ​​Grass?"

Lazar’s eyes flashed with excitement, and he patted Rahalo on the shoulder: “Blood of my blood, I understand everything you said.

My life has belonged to you since the day I followed you. So, don't worry!

Laharo's eyelids twitched. "How can you talk like that? Should I be relieved or worried?"

...

At the same time, inside the white square brick tower, the parliament hall was brightly lit, and the sea breeze hit the window frames, as if the sea god was roaring, but the atmosphere in the hall was even more intense than the sea breeze.

"We can't win this battle!" Paulin Cepta screamed. "Robert's fleet has hundreds of ships. What can we do against him? Pentos is not a military power. We don't even have a navy, and we can't even muster ten trebuchets!"

"The enemy has blockaded the port. No ship can escape! If you don't surrender, Robert Baratheon will plunder the city!" A nobleman's face was covered in cold sweat. "Remember what happened to the Riverlands after the Battle of the Trident? Robert's army massacred all the nobles!
His army marched into Harrenhal and executed every noble in the city! They burned, killed, and pillaged in Harrenhal. Do you think Pentos is any different?

"Never surrender!"

An elderly councillor roared, "Pentos has always been independent! Will you allow the Baratheon flag to fly from our docks? Will you pay taxes to the Iron Throne?"

Bernard Layton asked for help from the Iron Throne and brought reinforcements, but he didn't expect that the situation in Pentos would change as soon as he returned. Ecclesiastes and Simon died tragically. At this time, he looked as sad as if he had lost his parents.

He roared, "Robert came to Pentos to defeat Rahalor. He has nothing to do with Pentos. Yet you have appointed Rahalor as the Lord Commander of the Guard! A bunch of profit-seeking fools!"

There were endless quarrels in the hall, anger and fear intertwined, and the entire parliament hall seemed like a powder keg about to explode.

Leon, sitting in the speaker's seat, waved his hands desperately to signal everyone to be quiet, but no one was willing to listen to him and shut up.

He had only been on the Speaker's throne for one day, and before he could even get comfortable in his seat, the fleet from Westeros arrived, as if fate was playing a trick on him.

He should have been holding a grand banquet, accepting gifts from merchants, and embracing those gorgeous lovers, instead of shouting at a bunch of scared cowards! "Please calm down, everyone!" Leon tried to sound calmer, even though his stomach was twitching nervously. "The war hasn't started yet, and the army hasn't lost a single soldier. We can't scare ourselves!"

Someone shouted angrily: "Bullshit! They are just a group of mercenaries who surrendered after being defeated! Do you think soldiers who have just suffered a defeat can stop the royal fleet of Westeros?"

Leon gritted his teeth and slumped back into his chair.

What these people needed was a treaty, a peace that could be bought with gold dragons, not his empty words.

But what can he say?
His military talent is as rubbish as anyone here, and the worries in his heart are no less than theirs.

"Enough! What are you arguing about?" A voice pierced through the noise, carrying murderous intent, making the parliament hall silent.

Jorah Mormont was now also a Magister on the Council of Forty, having recently been appointed to a seat on the recommendation of Lionel and Illian.

He had originally held some elegant illusions about the parliament, but now it seemed that a parliament controlled by this group of stupid and cowardly people was even more disgusting than the dirtiest market in the slums!

Looking at their current appearance, they are no different from a middle-aged woman arguing with someone over a copper coin!
"Who says we can't win?" Jorah slowly stood up, his voice cold with the North. "Then tell me, if the enemy thinks they can win, why don't they just attack the city?"

Jorah walked to the center of the hall and said loudly, "Because Robert will scare you into submission, bring you to your knees, and offer Pentos in your hands!"

Jorah's voice suddenly rose. "We have no navy, so let them land! Remember, we have the Sea of ​​Grass at our backs, and the Dothraki cavalry are invincible on land!"

Jorah clapped his hands twice, and then a team of fully armed Shields of Pentos pushed open the door and walked in dragging a middle-aged man.

The man's face was covered in blood and his mouth was broken. He was held down by the soldiers and knelt in the middle of the hall in a mess.

"Tell them who you are?"

"I am Selwyn Tarth, Earl of Duskfall Hall and Earl of the Isle of Tarth, and a special envoy sent by King Robert to negotiate!" The middle-aged man's voice trembled.

The air suddenly froze!
Several members of parliament turned pale and stepped back unconsciously, as if they were afraid of being stared at.

Their commander-in-chief even dared to arrest King Robert's envoy!

Jorah drew his sword and walked in front of Selwyn Tarth. Selwyn was about to beg for mercy when the sword slashed across his throat without hesitation.

Blood splattered, turning the white floor tiles scarlet!
Everyone's eyes widened in horror, and the noise immediately stopped, leaving only bursts of heavy breathing.

Jorah sheathed his sword, looked around the hall calmly, and then said slowly: "There is no retreat in Pentos. It is either fight or die!

So, everyone, who still wants to negotiate? I can get you out of the city!"

No one in the hall dared to say no anymore.

Even the messenger was killed, and the retreat route was completely blocked. They could even imagine Robert's angry face. Did they go out to die?
Now there are only two choices left, to be beheaded first and then hand over the family property, or to hand over the family property first and then be beheaded!
(End of this chapter)