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Authors: John Myers Myers
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tried to edge away. One we killed when his shield was riven by Conan’s blow; the other we slew as he turned to bolt.
Then they were around us in numbers and all but cut us off from the wall. It was several desperate minutes before we saw an opportunity to jump back into our haven, and by that time we were bleeding from more places. It had been fine, swift work, but we were thoroughly tired for the first time. I thought longingly of the sweet spring in the rear of the vault, and I could hear Conan’s breath coming heavily.
Still we stood them off, and eventually—I was losing even approximate track of time—Oliver ordered them to make way for replacements. He had taken no part in the fighting since the night before, but he included himself in this new squad. Doubtless he calculated that the kill was at hand, and he didn’t want to miss it.
“Take this,” Conan whispered, thrusting the hilt of his sword toward me. Then he tore a block from the barricade, brought it over his head, and heaved it. Oliver threw up his shield; but it was beaten in, and he went down. For the moment then his men were more interested in their leader than in us. They crowded to bend over him, and we had our first respite in perhaps two hours.
I sat down, glancing at my wounds with detached curiosity. It seemed not worth while to do anything about them. “You never can tell what you’re liable to find under a stone these days,” I panted.
Conan snickered. “He certainly crawled under it in a hurry. Shy, probably.” He lifted his voice to address the foe. “Don’t take any stones off that carrion; pile more on!”
But Oliver apparently wasn’t carrion yet. In a few minutes they picked him up and carried him to the shade of a tree, where he lay motionless. We couldn’t judge how badly he was hurt, but we hoped for the worst. He would at any rate be in no mood to enjoy our downfall.
Seeing them all so interested in their injured chief, Conan took a dead man’s steel cap, leaving me on guard while he went back to the spring. The water he brought me tasted as only water can at such times. It revived me to a degree and helped to quiet my breathing. As I looked up from drinking I saw that his eyes were on me intently.
“Finnian,” he said after a moment, “it may seem foolish to say this now when we have no more time belonging to us; but you’ve played a friend’s part even though you didn’t know me, and—”
“I wasn’t keen for it,” I interrupted to confess.
“Who would be? Nevertheless, you did it, and because you did it there are good things between us. Moreover, we are men that would have taken to each other anyhow.”
I merely nodded at these accepted facts. It was too bad we’d never had a chance to put our legs under a table with wine on it. Oh, well.
“Finnian,” he used my name again, “if you don’t want it, say so, but I should like to swear blood-brotherhood with you.” He smiled. “We don’t have to go to any bother about opening veins.”
I was more than willing to seal our hectically brief intimacy. That act of ritual seemed eminently suited to the moment, at once exalted and desperate. Besides, as the imp that is seldom absent from man’s mind on even the most solemn occasions whispered, any obligations that the bond ordinarily entailed would soon be liquidated. “You’re a good man to stand with,” I said, with something of the formality the situation called for, “and I’ll take pride in mixing your blood with mine.”
So we did that and took oath. “I see they’re through fussing with Oliver, brother,” Conan said. “If you’ve got any last prayers to make, now’s the time.”
I thought about it but shook my head. For any retributions or rewards to follow, my rate of pay was already assessed; and it didn’t seem likely that a prayer squeezed in at the last minute could change things much. I crossed myself and let it go at that.
Conan, however, made some sort of prayer. That
Then they were around us in numbers and all but cut us off from the wall. It was several desperate minutes before we saw an opportunity to jump back into our haven, and by that time we were bleeding from more places. It had been fine, swift work, but we were thoroughly tired for the first time. I thought longingly of the sweet spring in the rear of the vault, and I could hear Conan’s breath coming heavily.
Still we stood them off, and eventually—I was losing even approximate track of time—Oliver ordered them to make way for replacements. He had taken no part in the fighting since the night before, but he included himself in this new squad. Doubtless he calculated that the kill was at hand, and he didn’t want to miss it.
“Take this,” Conan whispered, thrusting the hilt of his sword toward me. Then he tore a block from the barricade, brought it over his head, and heaved it. Oliver threw up his shield; but it was beaten in, and he went down. For the moment then his men were more interested in their leader than in us. They crowded to bend over him, and we had our first respite in perhaps two hours.
I sat down, glancing at my wounds with detached curiosity. It seemed not worth while to do anything about them. “You never can tell what you’re liable to find under a stone these days,” I panted.
Conan snickered. “He certainly crawled under it in a hurry. Shy, probably.” He lifted his voice to address the foe. “Don’t take any stones off that carrion; pile more on!”
But Oliver apparently wasn’t carrion yet. In a few minutes they picked him up and carried him to the shade of a tree, where he lay motionless. We couldn’t judge how badly he was hurt, but we hoped for the worst. He would at any rate be in no mood to enjoy our downfall.
Seeing them all so interested in their injured chief, Conan took a dead man’s steel cap, leaving me on guard while he went back to the spring. The water he brought me tasted as only water can at such times. It revived me to a degree and helped to quiet my breathing. As I looked up from drinking I saw that his eyes were on me intently.
“Finnian,” he said after a moment, “it may seem foolish to say this now when we have no more time belonging to us; but you’ve played a friend’s part even though you didn’t know me, and—”
“I wasn’t keen for it,” I interrupted to confess.
“Who would be? Nevertheless, you did it, and because you did it there are good things between us. Moreover, we are men that would have taken to each other anyhow.”
I merely nodded at these accepted facts. It was too bad we’d never had a chance to put our legs under a table with wine on it. Oh, well.
“Finnian,” he used my name again, “if you don’t want it, say so, but I should like to swear blood-brotherhood with you.” He smiled. “We don’t have to go to any bother about opening veins.”
I was more than willing to seal our hectically brief intimacy. That act of ritual seemed eminently suited to the moment, at once exalted and desperate. Besides, as the imp that is seldom absent from man’s mind on even the most solemn occasions whispered, any obligations that the bond ordinarily entailed would soon be liquidated. “You’re a good man to stand with,” I said, with something of the formality the situation called for, “and I’ll take pride in mixing your blood with mine.”
So we did that and took oath. “I see they’re through fussing with Oliver, brother,” Conan said. “If you’ve got any last prayers to make, now’s the time.”
I thought about it but shook my head. For any retributions or rewards to follow, my rate of pay was already assessed; and it didn’t seem likely that a prayer squeezed in at the last minute could change things much. I crossed myself and let it go at that.
Conan, however, made some sort of prayer. That
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