By Robert E. Howard

The writer of Conan appears to be like to the celebs in a single of fantasy's so much enduring technology myth classics! Robert E. Howard's Almuric is a savage planet of crumbling stone ruins and debased, near-human population. Into this global comes Esau Cairn, Earthman, swordsman, assassin. simply he can overthrow the negative devils that enslave Almuric, yet to take action he needs to first defeat the interior demons that compelled him to desert Earth. choked with vile beasts and exciting experience within the culture of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Almuric is one among Howard's few novels, and a very good yarn from one among America's so much particular literary voices.

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Some of my muscles were numbed and useless. Blood poured from my nose and mouth. I was half blind and dizzy from the impact of my head against the hard earth. My legs trembled and my breath came in great gulps. But I saw that Ghor was in no better case. He too bled at the nose and mouth, and more, blood trickled from his ears. He reeled as he faced me, and his hairy chest heaved spasmodically. He spat out a mouthful of blood, and with a roar that was more a gasp, he hurled himself at me again. And steeling my ebbing strength for one last effort, I caught his outstretched wrist, wheeled, ducking low and bringing his arm over my shoulder, and heaved with all my last ounce of power.

Working myself out from under that bulk was a herculean task, but eventually I accomplished it, and stood up, bruised and breathless, with the half-dried blood of the monster clotted in my hair and smearing my limbs. I was a grisly sight to look at, but I wasted no time on my appearance. My erstwhile steed was nowhere in evidence, and the circling trees limited my view of the sky. Selecting the tallest of these trees, I climbed it as swiftly as possible, and on the topmost branches, looked out over the forest.

At the first impact of his hairy body against mine, I realized that Ghor was stronger than Logar. Without my best natural weapons—my fists—Ghor had the advantage. He was a hairy mountain of iron muscle, and he moved with the quickness of a huge cat. Accustomed to such fighting, he knew tricks of which I was ignorant. Lastly, his bullet head was set so squarely on his shoulders that it was practically impossible to strangle that thick squat neck of his. What saved me was the wild life I had lived which had toughened me as no man, living as a man, can be toughened.

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