Conan! In her excitement, she gave the old name.
Conan he _was_. Whirling, he confronted a wiry little fellow, chained
him brutally across the face, seized the man's falling sword, used it
on him. Then he walked in, got the man's jaw, unbalanced him over into
the sea.
The ship was awake now. Most of the men had been down below, resting
from the battles. Now they came pouring up, in a silver spate. Their
yelling was in strange contrast to the calm silence of Crom Dhu's men.
Starke found himself busy.
Conan had been a healthy animal, with great recuperative powers. Now
his muscles responded to every trick asked of them. Starke leaped
cleanly across the deck, watching for Rann, but she was no where to be
seen. He engaged two blades, dispatched one of them. More ropes raveled
high and snaked him. Every ship in the harbor was exploding with
violence. More men swarmed over the rail behind Starke, silently.
Above the shouting, Beudag's voice came, at sight of the fighting men.
"Clev! Mannt! Aesur!"
Starke was a god, anything he wanted he could have. A man's head? He
could have it. It meant acting the guillotine with knife and wrist
and lunged body. Like--_this_! His eyes were smoking amber and there
were deep lines of grim pleasure tugging at his lips. An enemy cannot
fight without hands. One man, facing Starke, suddenly displayed violent
stumps before his face, not believing them.
Are you watching, Faolan, cried Starke inside himself, delivering
blows. Look here, Faolan! God, no, you're blind. _Listen_ then! Hear
the ring of steel on steel. Does the smell of hot blood and hot bodies
reach you? Oh, if you could see this tonight, Faolan. Falga would
be forgotten. This is Conan, out of idiocy, with a guy named Starke
wearing him and telling him where to go!
It was not safe on deck. Starke hadn't particularly noticed before, but
the warriors of Crom Dhu didn't care whom they attacked now. They were
beginning to do surgery to one another. They excised one another's
shoulders, severed limbs in blind instantaneous obedience. This was no
place for Beudag and himself.
He cut her free of the masthead, drew her quickly to the rail.
Beudag was laughing. She could do nothing but laugh. Her eyes were
shocked. She saw dead men alive again, lashing out with weapons; she
had been starved and made to stand night and day, and now she could
only laugh.
Starke shook her.
She did not stop laughing.
"Beudag! You're all right. You're free."