Adventure Magazine Cover — page 37: what you’re looking at

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

re © Les lh ae Sa Pak” - Prisoners of War voided privilege could carry no weight against a free man’s unless given under torture. _.. “What answer did you make to Skell?” he demanded, turning, but keeping hold of Conop’s shoulder. The girl laughed, mirthlessly again. “T would liefer die beside my brother than go, a half-breed’s property, to Cesar.” “Come here, Skell!’”’ Tros commanded. But he spoke too suddenly, too fiercely. ‘There was a splash as Skell sprang overside. Then Tros’ ears caught what Skell probably had heard first—song and splashing in the distance, down stream. He thought of the arrow-engine but refrained and pushed Co- mops away from it. Conops urged, but ‘Tros knew his own mind. “Let the rat run! I have a notion not to kill him.’’ “Notion!? Conops muttered. “I’ve a notion too! We'll all be gutted by pirates, that’s my notion!” Skell’s boat left the bireme’s side in re- sponse to his shouts and the Britons who had brought him hauled him out of water. Straight away he set them paddling toward the farther bank, where he could lurk in shadow out of sight of the approaching boats, whose crews sang drunkenly and splashed enough for a considerable fleet. But there was no moon, no stars, only the ghostly British gloaming-deeply shadowed, and Tros could not see them yet. “Into the longship!”’ he commanded. “All hands!” The hirelings in the bow demurred. They knew the time was come for looting. Tros charged them, beat them overside with the flat of his long sword. Conops cut the lash- ings that held the ships together. There _was no talk needed to persuade the North- men to flee from drunken longshoremen; they were overside before Tros could count their flitting shadows, and Tros had hardly time to run for Cesar’s cloak before the longship yielded to the tide and drifted out ynto the river. For a while he let her drift and listened. He could still hardly see the approaching boats, but it was evident that their occu- pants had seen the longship’s movement; they had stopped and were holding a con- sultation, paddling to keep their craft from drifting nearer until they could decide what the movement meant. There was no wind; the longship lay help- less on the tide, useless unless Tros could set his prisoners to work and make the hirelings help them; and if he should put the Northmen to the oars there would be none to help him repel boarders. Yet there was no knowing what the end might be if he should employ his prisoners to defend a ship that had been theirs a dozen hours ago! They, too, might force the hirelings to the oars and make a bid for — freedom! He had given them back their weapons; they could overwhelm him easily. But out of the darkness down the river movement grew again. The Britons were advancing on the: bireme, keeping silence. It was more than Tros could stomach tosee pirates loot a valuable ship. “Oars!” he ordered in a low voice. “Out oars!” | Conops leaped into the ship’s waist, claw- ing, cuffing, beating with his knife-hilt, until presently a dozen hirelings manned the benches, the remainder hugging bruises in the dark. “Too few!” Tros muttered. Unused to those oars and that ship, a dozen men could hardly have provided steerage way against the tide. He could count nearly a dozen boats creeping close up to the bireme. ‘“‘Helma!’”’ he’ commanded, turning his head to look for her. The Northmen, except Sigurdsen, who lay murmuring in delirium, stood and grinned at him. Helma was behind them, urging something, speaking Norse in sibilant undertones. “Helma!” he said again; and his hand went to his sword, for the Northmen’s grins were over-bold. One of them was arguing with Helma, with what sounded like monstrous oaths. ‘“‘To your oars!” he ordered, gesturing. None obeyed. He seized the nearest Northman hurled him into the ship’s waist, spun around again to fight for dear life, drawing sword and lunging as he turned. “Hold Tros!”’ That was Helma’s voice. Ears were swifter than his eyes; he heard her in mid- lunge and checked barely in time to let a man give ground in front of him. Helma sprang to his side then, seized his sword-hilt in both hands, bearing down on it, seream- ing at the prisoners in Norse. He understood she was fighting for him, scolding, screaming at her kinsmen to obew and man the oars. He caught the word ’ 4 . ‘ft ’ > 7 sve 4G Oe ear A ‘ <& Aol > ites ids eb Re AN Mint AS Or ed Bh comicbooks.com —