A day had passed since Jon and Melisandre had arrived in Qarth. Melisandre had given a small tour of the city to Jon. She was well aware of the city layout.
Beyond the commercial district through which they had entered, the rest of Qarth was much as Jon had expected.
The streets were narrow and dirty with filth and waste littering the streets. The houses were cramped and seemed to be pressed close together. A lot of free but homeless people used streets as their homes and apart from few roads where the elite resided, where the homeless were not allowed, the city guards too no notice of these homeless.
Even so, according to Melisandre, Qarth was still more beautiful and spacious than most other cities of Essos.
Except in one place. The area in which the slaves resided. While a number of slaves lived in their masters' homes, the majority resided in ghetto like structures tucked into an obscure corner of the city.
The streets there overflowed with waste, filth, and sewage. Some houses could only be accessed by going ankle deep into the flowing waste. The houses were so tightly packed that it looked as though one building had been stacked upon another.
To Jon, it seemed deliberate, as though the slaves were intentionally forced to live in squalor. There was space enough to expand, but the ruling Council of Thirteen had no interest in granting it. The slaves were constantly reminded their position of misery.
Side by side of this poverty, riches and wealth too exited in Qarth. A lot spectacular houses and mansions with beautiful gardens and servants showed the riches flowing through Qarth. There were shops which sold clothes what a small family earned in a single year. The port was adorned with vast and massive ships which unloaded and loaded valuable goods.
The population of Qarth was just shy of one million, standing at over nine hundred thousand. The city was governed by a council of thirteen members, most of whom were descendants of the ancient kings of Qarth.
Another power centre within the city was the order of warlocks. How much influence they currently wielded, however, neither Jon nor Melisandre could say.
For all its wealth, Qarth had no unified army. Instead, each merchant maintained a private force of his own. The size of this force depended on the merchant's wealth and standing, but the maximum permitted to any one man was one hundred soldiers.
The only exception to this rule was the Council of Thirteen. Each member was both allowed and required to maintain a force of fifteen hundred men, for a combined total of nineteen thousand five hundred. In practice, this was Qarth's military strength.
While these men were technically loyal only to the merchant lord who paid them, their upkeep was funded largely through city taxes.
Still, compared to its size, population, and strategic location, Qarth's military strength was lacking. It was not that the city lacked the funds to support a larger army. They simply felt no need. The ruling elite took immense pride in their great walls, and thus believed all they required was a force sufficient to police the city and protect its port.
For that, nineteen thousand five hundred men were more than enough.
And if a greater need ever arose, sellsword companies were always available for hire. In the minds of the Thirteen, their private guards combined with mercenary companies were more than sufficient to deal with any threat that arose against Qarth.
"You seem to be well-acquainted with the city," Jon remarked as he and Melisandre made their way back toward the inn after one of their short tours.
"Yes," Melisandre nodded. "Though much time has passed since I last visited, the city has not changed much."
Jon could agree with that. The society of Planteos seemed to have remained stagnant for centuries. Apart from fall and rise of new dynasties and powerful families, the society has not evolved in a long time. There was no innovation or even talk of innovation. Things just continued as they continued.
"And when was the last time you visited?" he asked.
Melisandre smiled mysteriously at the question.
"I believe no one alive in this city has ever seen me," she replied. Even so, she gave no hint of the exact number of years. A hundred years and two hundred years. Both could fit in the answer that she had given.
Jon studied her in silence before asking, "Is there some sort of feud between Qarth and Volantis? The guard mentioned that few people come here from Volantis."
"You could say so," Melisandre answered after a brief pause. "But it is not exactly between the cities."
Jon raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue.
"It is between two religions," she said.
Jon's confusion only deepened and stared at her with raised eyebrow demanding explanation.
"Do you know which religion the warlocks follow?" she asked.
"They follow a religion?" Jon questioned in slight surprise. "I thought that they were just magicians."
"They are," Melisandre nodded. "But there is another tale too."
"House of undying," she muttered. "This is what their keep is called. Correct?"
"Because they consume a particular herb, called the shade of evening. This herb turns their skin into violet blue colour and their nails into black. It is also rumoured that the herb extends their lives. Few rumours even say that they are essential ancient and do not die. Hence the name undead," Jon answered.
"True," Melisandre agreed. She did not comment whether they truly lived a long life or not but Jon was certain that she knew the answer.
"But," she continued, "should they not have some other name? Like house of alive? Like house of non dead. Undead do not really mean a person who could not die. It generally means a person whose death had been undone."
And Jon's steps stopped. His eyes almost bulging in shock. Undead. House of Undying. The Ice King. White Walkers. The army of undead. He had never thought this way.
Melisandre saw through what Jon had been thinking.
She chuckled, "No. They do not have any connection."
Jon continued to stare at her face, doubts still lingering in his mind.
"Come," she said moving forwards. "I will explain."
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