Do you think Khal Drogo could have faced any reprocussions for his murder of Viserys Violating the spirit of Vaes Dothrak's mandatory peace or do you think the Dothraki see a serious difference between a bloodless death and a bloody one?
It literally says right there in the book that they know the difference?
“He has no gold to pay soldiers. What if he’s betrayed?” Caravan guards were seldom troubled much by thoughts of honor, and the Usurper in King’s Landing would pay well for her brother’s head. “You ought to have gone with him, to keep him safe. You are his sworn sword.”“We are in Vaes Dothrak,” he reminded her. “No one may carry a blade here or shed a man’s blood.”“Yet men die,” she said. “Jhogo told me. Some of the traders have eunuchs with them, huge men who strangle thieves with wisps of silk. That way no blood is shed and the gods are not angered.”
Dany looked down the length of the long, roofless hall and there he was, striding toward her. From the lurch in his step, she could tell at once that Viserys had found his wine… and something that passed for courage.He was wearing his scarlet silks, soiled and travel-stained. His cloak and gloves were black velvet, faded from the sun. His boots were dry and cracked, his silver-blond hair matted and tangled. A longsword swung from his belt in a leather scabbard. The Dothraki eyed the sword as he passed; Dany heard curses and threats and angry muttering rising all around her, like a tide.
Her brother drew his sword.The bared steel shone a fearful red in the glare from the firepits. “Keep away from me!” Viserys hissed. Ser Jorah backed off a step, and her brother climbed unsteadily to his feet. He waved the sword over his head, the borrowed blade that Magister Illyrio had given him to make him seem more kingly. Dothraki were shrieking at him from all sides, screaming vile curses.Dany gave a wordless cry of terror. She knew what a drawn sword meant here, even if her brother did not.
“The blade … you must not,” she begged him. “Please, Viserys. It is forbidden. Put down the sword and come share my cushions. There’s drink, food… is it the dragon’s eggs you want? You can have them, only throw away the sword.”“Do as she tells you, fool,” Ser Jorah shouted, “before you get us all killed.”Viserys laughed. “They can’t kill us. They can’t shed blood here in the sacred city… but I can.” He laid the point of his sword between Daenerys’s breasts and slid it downward, over the curve of her belly.
When the gold was half-melted and starting to run, Drogo reached into the flames, snatched out the pot. “Crown!” he roared. “Here. A crown for Cart King!” And upended the pot over the head of the man who had been her brother.The sound Viserys Targaryen made when that hideous iron helmet covered his face was like nothing human. His feet hammered a frantic beat against the dirt floor, slowed, stopped. Thick globs of molten gold dripped down onto his chest, setting the scarlet silk to smoldering… yet no drop of blood was spilled.
