Read Online Conan the Rebel by Poul Anderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Poul Anderson
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sweat-shiny hides. Stygian axmen sought to cut the lines. A volley of arrows dropped some and drove the rest back. Planks banged together. Tigress shuddered from the impact but lay hard alongside.
'Get aboard before they torch us!' Conan bawled. He had seen what fire could do to a ship. His sword flared free, and he sped along the catwalk.
Crewmen of his had already brought up a boarding plank. Its teeth crunched into a rail several feet higher than that of Tigress. Conan shoved through the group and was first in their attack. Behind him stormed those few who had the armour to serve as shock troops. Most bore simply kilts or tunics, with the plumes and! weapons of their native country, but they seemed all the more fearsome for that as they gathered to follow. 'Wakonga mutusif!' Their screams overran the shouts of the merchant sailors.
Three men in Stygian military mail stood shoulder to shoulder at the head of the plank. Conan's blade whirred on high and sang downward. It belled on the metal of a shield. The bearer staggered from the force, but thrust from behind his protection. Conan's clumsy assault had been a ruse. His steel chopped sideways, caught the enemy's wrist, and raised a gout of blood. The man stared unbelieving at his dangling hand and reeled back, to sit down and die.
Conan had already used his own shield to catch that of his opponent on the left by the rim, hook it aside, and leave a leg exposed to a murderous sweep. As he smote, he gave a further twist that threw his foe against the one on the right. While the first wailed and sagged, the barbarian turned on the second. That fellow was more skilled. He kept his shield before him, moving it just enough to counter blows, and worked around its sides. Conan stepped back a pace to gain room. When the short sword probed after him, his own long blade rang down upon it. Sheer impact tore it loose from the Stygian's grasp. He retreated. Conan sprang forward and onto the freighter's main deck.
He had needed scarcely three minutes to clear the way. Honed metal gathered nigh, in a frantic attempt to slay him and close the gap. He bellowed for glee and laid about him. Most of the defenders, like most of the pirates, had little more than shields to aid them, if that. Their bare brown bodies were terribly vulnerable to his blows as he drove back or brought low. And now Bêlit's warriors were coming aboard.
The Stygian captain shouted from the poop. His men heard. They were a well-drilled crew. Such of them as were able formed into a tight squad and retreated aft. They inflicted as well as took losses. Suba were mainly engaged with those who had not managed to that band but nevertheless put up a stiff battle. Thus a score of the merchant seamen gained the higher deck.
She hurried over red-running planks, writhing wounded, assorted dead, to Conan. Arrows from the poop whistled after her. He drew her close to him and held up his shield for whatever safety it afforded. 'They can stand us off, where they are, for a long while,' He said. 'There is ample shipping in these waters, and pirates are the vicinity of every seafaring nation. They can hope another vessel will pass by in time to help them. Then I fear we must make off.'
'We can plunder this – No,' Conan decided. It would be impossible to transfer cargo under a barrage. Already the buccaneers had been forced to take shelter behind deckhouse, mast, and bollards. He felt an arrow ram into his shield and urged Bêlit out of the way.
'Well, we can at least set her afire!' she said viciously.
The wastefulness of that offended Conan's sense of workmanship. 'Hold,' he said. 'I have a notion. They can keep the ladder against us, aye... they have nobody at their backs.' He was now forward of the deckhouse. 'Help me, will you?' He dropped the shield.
'What -' she began. He told her. For a heartbeat she stood appalled, then understanding flamed in her, and she barked a she-wolfs laughter. 'You are mad, Conan, but you are
'Get aboard before they torch us!' Conan bawled. He had seen what fire could do to a ship. His sword flared free, and he sped along the catwalk.
Crewmen of his had already brought up a boarding plank. Its teeth crunched into a rail several feet higher than that of Tigress. Conan shoved through the group and was first in their attack. Behind him stormed those few who had the armour to serve as shock troops. Most bore simply kilts or tunics, with the plumes and! weapons of their native country, but they seemed all the more fearsome for that as they gathered to follow. 'Wakonga mutusif!' Their screams overran the shouts of the merchant sailors.
Three men in Stygian military mail stood shoulder to shoulder at the head of the plank. Conan's blade whirred on high and sang downward. It belled on the metal of a shield. The bearer staggered from the force, but thrust from behind his protection. Conan's clumsy assault had been a ruse. His steel chopped sideways, caught the enemy's wrist, and raised a gout of blood. The man stared unbelieving at his dangling hand and reeled back, to sit down and die.
Conan had already used his own shield to catch that of his opponent on the left by the rim, hook it aside, and leave a leg exposed to a murderous sweep. As he smote, he gave a further twist that threw his foe against the one on the right. While the first wailed and sagged, the barbarian turned on the second. That fellow was more skilled. He kept his shield before him, moving it just enough to counter blows, and worked around its sides. Conan stepped back a pace to gain room. When the short sword probed after him, his own long blade rang down upon it. Sheer impact tore it loose from the Stygian's grasp. He retreated. Conan sprang forward and onto the freighter's main deck.
He had needed scarcely three minutes to clear the way. Honed metal gathered nigh, in a frantic attempt to slay him and close the gap. He bellowed for glee and laid about him. Most of the defenders, like most of the pirates, had little more than shields to aid them, if that. Their bare brown bodies were terribly vulnerable to his blows as he drove back or brought low. And now Bêlit's warriors were coming aboard.
The Stygian captain shouted from the poop. His men heard. They were a well-drilled crew. Such of them as were able formed into a tight squad and retreated aft. They inflicted as well as took losses. Suba were mainly engaged with those who had not managed to that band but nevertheless put up a stiff battle. Thus a score of the merchant seamen gained the higher deck.
She hurried over red-running planks, writhing wounded, assorted dead, to Conan. Arrows from the poop whistled after her. He drew her close to him and held up his shield for whatever safety it afforded. 'They can stand us off, where they are, for a long while,' He said. 'There is ample shipping in these waters, and pirates are the vicinity of every seafaring nation. They can hope another vessel will pass by in time to help them. Then I fear we must make off.'
'We can plunder this – No,' Conan decided. It would be impossible to transfer cargo under a barrage. Already the buccaneers had been forced to take shelter behind deckhouse, mast, and bollards. He felt an arrow ram into his shield and urged Bêlit out of the way.
'Well, we can at least set her afire!' she said viciously.
The wastefulness of that offended Conan's sense of workmanship. 'Hold,' he said. 'I have a notion. They can keep the ladder against us, aye... they have nobody at their backs.' He was now forward of the deckhouse. 'Help me, will you?' He dropped the shield.
'What -' she began. He told her. For a heartbeat she stood appalled, then understanding flamed in her, and she barked a she-wolfs laughter. 'You are mad, Conan, but you are
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