"Come and get them." She was gone. Starke's mind was clear, with no
alien will tramping around in it. Faolan crouched on the floor, holding
his head. He said:
"Who spoke?"
Romna the bard stood staring. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
Starke said, "I spoke. Me, Hugh Starke. I'm not Conan, and I never
heard of Falga, and I'll brain the first guy that comes near me."
Faolan stayed motionless, his face blank, his breath sobbing in his
throat. Romna began to curse, very softly, not as though he were
thinking about it. Starke watched them.
Down the hall the doors burst open. The heavy reddish mist coiled in
with the daylight across the flags, and with them a press of bodies hot
from battle, bringing a smell of blood.
Starke felt the heart contract in the hairy breast of the body named
Conan, watching the single figure that led the pack.