Short Fiction by Robert E. Howard (classic books for 11 year olds .txt) ๐
Description
Conan, the Cimmerian barbarian, romps across the pages of Robert E. Howardโs Hyborian adventures, slicing down enemy after enemy and trying not to fall too hard for a succession of ladies in need of rescue. Although very much a product of the pulp fantasy magazines of the 1930s, Conan has surpassed his contemporaries to become the quintessential barbarian of the fantasy genre: the muscle-bound and instinct-led hero, always willing to fight his way out of any fix.
Collected here are Howardโs public domain short stories, including ten Conan short stories and the history of Hyboria that Howard wrote as a guide for himself to write from. Gods of the North originally was a Conan story, but after being rejected by the first publisher was rewritten slightly to a character called Amra; it was later republished as The Frost-Giantโs Daughter with the name changed back. The stories were serialised (with a couple of exceptions) in Weird Tales magazine between 1925 and 1936, and have gone on to spawn multiple licensed and unlicensed sequels, comics, films and games.
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- Author: Robert E. Howard
Read book online ยซShort Fiction by Robert E. Howard (classic books for 11 year olds .txt) ๐ยป. Author - Robert E. Howard
Conan stooped and cut the ropes that held the prince, and Olmec slid cautiously from under the great ball and rose, shaking his head like a bull and muttering imprecations as he fingered his lacerated scalp. Standing shoulder to shoulder the two men presented a formidable picture of primitive power. Olmec was as tall as Conan, and heavier; but there was something repellent about the Tlazitlan, something abysmal and monstrous that contrasted unfavorably with the clean-cut, compact hardness of the Cimmerian. Conan had discarded the remnants of his tattered, blood-soaked shirt, and stood with his remarkable muscular development impressively revealed. His great shoulders were as broad as those of Olmec, and more cleanly outlined, and his huge breast arched with a more impressive sweep to a hard waist that lacked the paunchy thickness of Olmecโs midsection. He might have been an image of primal strength cut out of bronze. Olmec was darker, but not from the burning of the sun. If Conan was a figure out of the dawn of Time, Olmec was a shambling, somber shape from the darkness of Timeโs pre-dawn.
โLead on,โ demanded Conan. โAnd keep ahead of me. I donโt trust you any farther than I can throw a bull by the tail.โ
Olmec turned and stalked on ahead of him, one hand twitching slightly as it plucked at his matted beard.
Olmec did not lead Conan back to the bronze door, which the prince naturally supposed Tascela had locked, but to a certain chamber on the border of Tecuhltli.
โThis secret has been guarded for half a century,โ he said. โNot even our own clan knew of it, and the Xotalancas never learned. Tecuhltli himself built this secret entrance, afterward slaying the slaves who did the work; for he feared that he might find himself locked out of his own kingdom some day because of the spite of Tascela, whose passion for him soon changed to hate. But she discovered the secret, and barred the hidden door against him one day as he fled back from an unsuccessful raid, and the Xotalancas took him and flayed him. But once, spying upon her, I saw her enter Tecuhltli by this route, and so learned the secret.โ
He pressed upon a gold ornament in the wall, and a panel swung inward, disclosing an ivory stair leading upward.
โThis stair is built within the wall,โ said Olmec. โIt leads up to a tower upon the roof, and thence other stairs wind down to the various chambers. Hasten!โ
โAfter you, comrade!โ retorted Conan satirically, swaying his broadsword as he spoke, and Olmec shrugged his shoulders and stepped onto the staircase. Conan instantly followed him, and the door shut behind them. Far above a cluster of fire-jewels made the staircase a well of dusky dragon-light.
They mounted until Conan estimated that they were above the level of the fourth floor, and then came out into a cylindrical tower, in the domed roof of which was set the bunch of fire-jewels that lighted the stair. Through gold-barred windows, set with unbreakable crystal panes, the first windows he had seen in Xuchotl, Conan got a glimpse of high ridges, domes and more towers, looming darkly against the stars. He was looking across the roofs of Xuchotl.
Olmec did not look through the windows. He hurried down one of the several stairs that wound down from the tower, and when they had descended a few feet, this stair changed into a narrow corridor that wound tortuously on for some distance. It ceased at a steep flight of steps leading downward. There Olmec paused.
Up from below, muffled, but unmistakable, welled a womanโs scream, edged with fright, fury and shame. And Conan recognized Valeriaโs voice.
In the swift rage roused by that cry, and the amazement of wondering what peril could wring such a shriek from Valeriaโs reckless lips, Conan forgot Olmec. He pushed past the prince and started down the stair. Awakening instinct brought him about again, just as Olmec struck with his great mallet-like fist. The blow, fierce and silent, was aimed at the base of Conanโs brain. But the Cimmerian wheeled in time to receive the buffet on the side of his neck instead. The impact would have snapped the vertebrae of a lesser man. As it was, Conan swayed backward, but even as he reeled he dropped his sword, useless at such close quarters, and grasped Olmecโs extended arm, dragging the prince with him as he fell. Headlong they went down the steps together, in a revolving whirl of limbs and heads and bodies. And as they went Conanโs iron fingers found and locked in Olmecโs bull-throat.
The barbarianโs neck and shoulder felt numb from the sledge-like impact of Olmecโs huge fist, which had carried all the strength of the massive forearm, thick triceps and great shoulder. But this did not affect his ferocity to any appreciable extent. Like a bulldog he hung on grimly, shaken and battered and beaten against the steps as they rolled, until at last they struck an ivory panel-door at the bottom with such an impact that they splintered it down its full length and crashed through its ruins. But Olmec was already dead, for those iron fingers had crushed out his life and broken his neck as they fell.
Conan rose, shaking the splinters from his great shoulder, blinking blood and dust out of his eyes.
He was in the great throne room. There were fifteen people in that room besides himself. The first person he saw was Valeria. A curious black altar stood before the throne-dais. Ranged about it, seven black candles in golden candlesticks sent up oozing spirals of thick green smoke, disturbingly
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