Adventure Magazine Cover — page 22: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“You may put in to the riverbank. I 1 count it treachery if more than one n steps ashore. ‘Then climb on to this ireme over the bow, and let the boat put ut again into the river. You must fight me on my own poop, Olaf Sigurdsen.” “TI will come, and yet, I have no proof of ' you,” the Northman answered. The blue-eyed girl translated that with such withering scorn that Tros winced. Olaf Sigurdsen sat down, perhaps to rest himself, but the girl stood, continuing to glare at Tros until the boat’s bow touched the mud and she had to clutch the chieftain’s head to keep her balance. Conops turned the arrow-engine, follow- ing the boat, and went through ostenta- tious pantomime of taking aim; but Olaf Sigurdsen jumped ashore and they poled the boat out again into the stream, driving the pole into the mud presently to serve as an anchor against the tide. Then Sigurdsen came up over the bow and, battle-ax on hip, stood, realizing how - he had deceived himself. Tros’ wounded Britons sprawled along the deck below the bulwark, most of them with hardly strength enough to grin at him, some almost in the grip of death, -all bleeding through blood- stiffened bandages. dead men under the sail-cloth forward of the citadel and gave a great laugh, lifting his battle-ax high and shouting to his friends: “Hah! ‘They have had a taste of us! They must have met with Volstrum’s ship down-river! Volstrum bit them to the marrow, all but two!” The Norsemen cheered and all three women in the boat mocked Tros, the young girl thumping her breast and claiming him as her own slave, to fetch and carry for her and to feed swine. - “Don't slay him! Beat him to his knees!” She eried to Sigurdsen, and repeated it in Gaulish so that Tros might understand. “You may come,” said Tros, and drew well back along the poop, drawing his long sword, throwing off the Roman cloak and stepping close to the arrow-engine, so that Conops might unbuckle the breast-armor. ' ‘The wounded Britons cheered him when the armor fell on deck, for they despised a man who did not bare his naked breast to ‘am assailant. Then, pulling off his shit, Tros flexed his huge muscles so that the hairy skin moved in waves and the Bri- tons cheered again, he keeping his eyes on He saw the shapes of* ~ at Se oa Ae Swed. Salle te 2 - OI = ee! oe he ee Wt. ae OE 6 a OE om a oe, ay a5 lee ot es ee Jere - Beso fees Adventure Sigurdsen and speaking through the corner of his mouth to Conops: “Now, no dog’s work! Keep your knife to yourself! If you so much as lift a hand to help me I'll turn from the fighting to skewer you to the deck! off!” You understand? Hands Gyan SIGURDSEN came slowly up the 7~\) ladder to the poop, ready to jump Aes} backward if Tross hould spring at him before his feet were on the deck, but Tros gave him full law and a breathing spell, considering the iron links on the outside of the Northmen’s leather jerkin, wondering whether the iron was soft or brittle. The Northman wore no helmet; he had lost it in the fighting over-river. His red- dish hair hung to his shoulders and his blood-shot eyes shone with a gleam of des- peration under an untidy fringe; and-he had brought no shield. He looked tired, but he was not wounded; the blood on his face was from a scratch caused by brambles as he fought his way out of the forest. For a full minute he and Tros stood study- ing each other, Conops whispering advice that Tros ignored. “The point, master! and under the chin! “Remember, an axis all blade. He can only swing with it, but he has along reach. Keep close, where he can only use short chops, and use your point!” At last the Northman growled like an angry bear and came on, his weight on the balls of his feet, which made him tower above Tros, holding his great ax forward in both hands. Tros met him with the point, stock-mo- tionless, not giving ground, until the North- man stepped back suddenly and with the speed of lightning swung at the sword to break it. Tros’ wrist hardly moved, but the ax-blade missed the sword-blade by an inch and the point went in between two links of the Northman’s mail. The prick of that maddened him; he came on like a whirlwind, swinging the ax up- ward at Tros’ jaw—missed, because Tros stepped back at last and, rising on both feet, aimed two-handed at the crown of Tros’ head. Tros sprang aside, expecting the ax would crash into the deck and leave the Northman at his mercy, but the blow was turned in middescent and swept at him as if his body Eomichbooks.com The point! Up, - Y=. ve = * ¥ >< . a