Chapter 49

Knives flailed the air wildly as Conan broke through the stumbling, gasping mob and bounded to the narrow bridge that spanned the waist from poop to forecastle, just out of reach of the slaves below. Behind him the handful of sailors on the poop were floundering after him, daunted by the destruction of their fellows, and the rest of the crew--some thirty in all--came running across the bridge toward him, with weapons in their hands. Conan bounded out on the bridge and stood poised above the upturned black faces, ax…