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dwindling in the witch-fire of the skies,
It was useless to call on Crom, because he was a gloomy, savage god, and he hated weaklings. But he gave a man courage at birth, and the will and might to kill his enemies, which, in the Cimmerian’s mind, was all any god should be expected to do.
He would not sell his subjects to the butcher. And yet it had been with no thought of any one’s gain but his own that he had seized the kingdom originally. Thus subtly does the instinct of sovereign responsibility enter even a red-handed plunderer sometimes.
I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content.”
“Hell or plunder, comrades – march!”
“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?”
quickly yet warily,
his mustaches drooped over a rat-trap mouth.
blurs of quickness possible only to steel thews knit to a perfect fighting-brain.
He did not fall any great distance, though it was far enough to have snapped the leg bones of a man not built of steel springs and whalebone.
