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Almuric (Planet Stories) by Robert E. Howard

By Robert E. Howard

The author of Conan seems to the celebs in a single of fantasy's so much enduring technological know-how myth classics! Robert E. Howard's Almuric is a savage planet of crumbling stone ruins and debased, near-human population. Into this international comes Esau Cairn, Earthman, swordsman, assassin. in basic terms he can overthrow the poor devils that enslave Almuric, yet to take action he needs to first defeat the internal demons that compelled him to desert Earth. full of vile beasts and exciting event within the culture of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Almuric is considered one of Howard's few novels, and a very good yarn from considered one of America's so much certain literary voices.

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Extra resources for Almuric (Planet Stories)

Sample text

Of all the forms of life I had encountered on that strange planet, none filled me with as much loathing as these dwarfish monstrosities. I backed away from the mangled heap on the earth, as a nauseous flood poured through the rift in the wall. The effect of those vermin emerging from that broken wall was almost intolerably sickening; the suggestion was that of maggots squirming out of a cracked and bleached skull. Turning, I caught Altha up in one arm and raced across the open space. They followed fleetingly, running now on all fours, and now upright like a man.

The monster raged among them with appalling quickness and ferocity. Its huge jaws crunched their skulls, its dripping mandibles skewered them, it crushed their bodies by its sheer weight. In an instant the place was a shambles, inhabited only by the dead and dying. Crouching among its victims, the great black hairy thing fixed its horribly intelligent eyes on me. I was the one it was trailing. I had awakened it underground, and it had followed the scent of the dried blood on my sandals. It had slaughtered the others simply because they stood in its way.

Seeing that one of her sandals had slipped off, I replaced it on her small foot, and while I was so occupied she asked unexpectedly: “Why do they call you Ironhand? Your fingers are hard, but their touch is as gentle as a woman's. I never had men's fingers touch me so lightly before. ” I clenched my fist and regarded it moodily—a knotted iron mallet of a fist. She touched it timidly. ” I answered. “No man I ever fought complained that my fists were gentle. ” Her eyes lighted. “You would not hurt me?

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