It is an ill thing to meet a man you thought dead in the woodland at dusk.
A devil from the Outer Dark,” he grunted. “Oh, they’re nothing uncommon. They lurk as thick as fleas outside the belt of light which surrounds this world. I’ve heard the wise men of Zamora talk of them. Some find their way to Earth, but when they do, they have to take on earthly form and flesh of some sort. A man like myself, with a sword, is a match for any amount of fangs and talons, infernal or terrestrial. Come, my men await me beyond the ridge of the valley.
The man slumped forward on the table. “Saints and devils!” raged the Wolf. “What does he look like, this Kane?” “Like – Satan –” The voice trailed off in silence. The dead man slid from the table to lie in a red heap upon the floor. “Like Satan!” babbled the other bandit. “I told you! ‘Tis the Horned One himself! I tell you –.
I am Solomon Kane.” The voice was resonant and powerful. “Are you prepared to meet your God?” “Why, Monsieur,” Le Loup answered, bowing, “I assure you I am as ready as I ever will be. I might ask Monsieur the same question.” “No doubt I stated my inquiry wrongly,” Kane said grimly. “I will change it: Are you prepared to meet your master, the Devil?
Springing back, sword high, he saw the horror strike the floor, wheel and scuttle toward him with appalling speed – a gigantic black spider, such as men see only in nightmare dreams.
A civilized man in his position would have sought doubtful refuge in the conclusion that he was insane; it did not occur to the Cimmerian to doubt his senses. He knew he was face to face with a demon of the Elder World, and the realization robbed him of all his faculties except sight.
It’s a mad nightmare,’ I muttered.
You left the fort before daybreak, I was told,” he said to Conan. “I had begun to fear that the Picts had caught you at last.” “When they smoke my head the whole river will know,” grunted Conan. “They’ll hear Pictish women wailing their dead as far as Velitrium – I was on a lone scout. I couldn’t sleep. I kept hearing drums talking across the river.
Arus the watchman grasped his crossbow with shaky hands, and he felt beads of clammy perspiration on his skin as he stared at the unlovely corpse sprawling on the polished floor before him. It is not pleasant to come upon Death in a lonely place at midnight.
Crom!” muttered the Cimmerian. “Here is the grandfather of all parrots. He must be a thousand years old! Look at the evil wisdom of his eyes. What mysteries do you guard, Wise Devil?” Abruptly the bird spread its flaming wings and soaring from its perch, cried out harshly: “Yagkoolan yok tha, xuthalla!” and with a wild screech of horribly human laughter, rushed away through the trees to vanish in the opalescent shadows.
These things be deeds of some power of evil. The lords of darkness have laid a curse upon the country. A strong man is needed to combat Satan and his might. Therefore I go, who have defied him many a time.
Their chief is Crom. He dwells on a great mountain. What use to call on him? Little he cares if men live or die. Better to be silent than to call his attention to you; he will send you dooms, not fortune! He is grim and loveless, but at birth he breathes power to strive and slay into a man’s soul. What else shall men ask of the gods?
Conan stood paralyzed in the disruption of the faculties which demoralizes anyone who is confronted by an impossible negation of sanity.
Again the governor knelt, for part of his wisdom was the knowledge that a woman in such an emotional tempest is as perilous as a blind cobra to any about her.
It will bear thrice my own,” answered Taurus. “It was woven from the tresses of dead women, which I took from their tombs at midnight, and steeped in the deadly wine of the upas tree, to give it strength. I will go first – then follow me closely.
He had never fled from a single foe, and had the thought occurred to him he would have flushed with shame.
They were neither the first nor the last to gild the name of thief.
Each smiled and nodded courteously, and each knew the other lied.
Someday, when all your civilization and science are likewise swept away, your kind will pray for a man with a sword.
When I cannot stand alone, it will be time to die,” he mumbled, through mashed lips. “But I’d like a flagon of wine.
The gods of yesterday become the devils of tomorrow.