Robert E. Howard

Nay, alone I am a weak creature, having no strength or might in me; yet in times past hath God made me a great vessel of wrath and a sword of deliverance. And I trust, shall do so again.

Kothian culture and religion had suffered from a subtle admix ture of Shemite and Stygian strains.

Conan wheeled toward the gaping corsairs.
"Well, you dogs!" he roared, "I've sent your chief to hell--what says the law of the Red Brotherhood?"

His gods were simple and understandable; Crom was their chief, and he lived on a great mountain, whence he sent forth dooms and death. 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.

Wenn das Leben eine Illusion ist, dann bin ich es nicht weniger, und somit ist die Illusion für mich Wirklichkeit.

The men on the Dauntless have disliked the Sea Girl's crew ever since our skipper took their captain to a cleaning on the wharfs of Zanzibar—them being narrow-minded that way. They claimed that the old man had a knuckle-duster on his right, which is ridiculous and a dirty lie. He had it on his left.

"Blast your soul, you hussy!" he exclaimed in exasperation.

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 –

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.

But who is this who rides in silver white
Attire that shames the stars across the night?
Helmet and shield and corselet all a-gleam,
Like some crusader from a drifting dream
Upon a prancing jackass shod with flame—
Rise, heralds of the past, bray forth his name

They have no hope here or hereafter, answered Conan. "Their gods are Crom and his dark race, who rule over a sunless place of everlasting mist, which is the world of the dead. Mitra! The ways of the Aesir were more to my liking.

Not for naught had he gained access into darksome cults, had harkened to the grisly whispers of the votaries of Skelos under midnight trees, and read the forbidden iron-bound books of Vathelos the Blind.

A long bow and a strong bow, and let the sky grow dark!
The cord to the nock, the shaft to the ear, and the king of Koth for a mark!

Aye, you white dog, you are like all your race; but to a black man gold can never pay for blood.

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.