Sword & Sorcery for lovers
Typiskt för den sortens fantasy är ju också att författarna verkar veta lika lite om sex som de vet om våld. Dessutom fokuserar de misstänkt mycket på att beskriva de muskulösa männen...
Clonan the Barbarian smiled grimly to himself and started to move towards the desecrated temple. He could
hear the faint chanting of the evil cultists inside. A large stone building surrounded by dense forest, guarded by no more
than two warriors. This would almost be too easy. He put a massive hand on the hilt of his mighty sword Grimfluddnir,
but decided against using it. This task would be best accomplished with a little subterfuge. Without a sound, he started to
make his way through the underbrush. The guards would never see him coming.
The guards were armed with heavy, bronze-headed spears and stood in front of the entrance to the temple. The chanting
was louder now, but Clonan still couldn't make out the words. Not that he wanted to; these god-botherers always seemed to
go on about the same things. Chanting to wake this or that sleeping demon lord, chanting to accompany the sacrificing of
the occational virgin and sometimes just chanting for the sake of it. Kept barbarians like him in business, that's
the only thing he cared about.
One of the guards turned to the other and started to say something, turning his back to Clonan. That was the last
mistake he would ever make. The mighty barbarian leapt from the bushes with a scream of rage, his mighty fists
puonding the unfortunate guard's head into a splutter of red against the temple wall. The other guard started to raise
his spear, but Clonan had already drawn his mighty blade. The first blow separated the guard's head from his body,
sending it spinning into the air. Clonan wiped his sword on his loincloth and nodded approvingly.
"That's the way to do it", he muttered as he picked up the closest of the spears. Never know when it might see some use.
The High Priest lifted his arms above his head as his acolytes started intoning the Chant of the Ever Circling
Skeletal Family. A young woman was chained to the altar in front of him, her already minimal dress torn to reveal
even more of her voluptious body. Her long auburn hair was spread over the old blood-stained altar and her geen eyes
looked at him pleadingly from behind their thick lashes. Sometimes the High Priest wondered if there might be some use
for young virgins apart from sacrificing them, but he knew better than to question church doctrine. The procession of
faithful had reached the altar and started to move in a long line towards the door. The High Prieast picked up his obsidian
dagger. Suddenly, he heard a loud scream outside the temple, followed by two muffled cries. Surprised, he lowered his
knife and signed for the followers to stop.
Spear held high, Clonan the Barbarian barged through the temple entrance. He screamed again, mainly to make his point
absolutely clear, then took a quick look at his surroundings. Young beauty chained to altar, senile old man in green robes,
a group of four younger men in red cloaks, but what was this? A bunch of singing maniacs all standing on a line in front of
him, almost as if they were expecting to be butchered. That's a new one, he thought to himself as he threw the
spear.
The weapon impaled the first three cultists and sent the fourth to the floor clutching his bleeding chest. Clonan screamed
for the third time as he drew his mighty sword Grimfluddnir, the gleam of the demon-forged blade almost matching
that of his eyes. The fanatics, paralyzed by surprise and fear, were still lined up in front of him. It took less than
a second to choose an appropriate technique. High right, low left, thrust. Repeat as needed, he decided, the heavy
blade moving as if it had a will of its own.
"That'll teach ya!" he said as the last zealot hit the floor. In front of him, the red-robed men had gathered around their
leader, short swords in their hands.
"You're not so bad" Clonan admitted as a thin blade grazed his left arm. "But I'm better!" he shouted as his enchanted blade
plunged deep into the body of his first opponent. He spun around to avoid the second one, only to notice that the two
remaining opponents had managed to get behind him. He was hit three more times before he finally managed to dodge a
vicious thrust and get out of the deadly circle of blades.
"Nobody attacks Clonan the Barbarian and lives!" he shouted as he made short work of the cultist closest to him. A quick
strike took care of the second one, and the last of the vicious lot started to pull back, notably off balance. Clonan followed
him without hesitating and managed to disarm him with an unexpected flick of his blade. The cultist raised his hands and
started to scream as one blow from the great sword split his head down to the occipital bone.
Tall, grim and bleeding from several wounds, Clonan turned to the high priest. The old man had taken cover behind
the altar, the point of his black dagger pressed against the girl's heaving bosom.
"Take one more step" the old man hissed, "and she's dead."
"No problem" Clonan replied as he threw his sword at the old man.
- - - -
"It's all right," the girl assured him. "I'm sure many other barbarians have the same problem. What with all the fighting,
and the tension. And you lost a lot of blood."
"I'm sorry," Clonan said. "It usually works. Are you sure it's alright?"
"Don't worry, it could happen to anyone."
-JPS- bugar sig och väntar på applåderna
