Gleaming shell of an outworn lie; fable of Right divine-
You gained your crowns by heritage, but Blood was the price of mine.
The throne that I won by blood and sweat, by Crom, I will not sell
For promise of valleys filled with gold, or threat of the Halls of Hell!
When I was a fighting-man, the kettle-drums they beat,
The people scattered gold-dust before my horse's feet;
But now I am a great king, the people hound my track
With poison in my wine-cup, and daggers at my back.
What do I know of cultured ways, the gilt, the craft and the lie?
I, who was born in a naked land and bred in the open sky.
The subtle tongue, the sophist guile, they fail when the broadswords sing;
Rush in and die, dogs - I was a man before I was a king!
Can't be scared in life to take chances. Fear is the mind killer.
Bookish and intellectual but also a boxer and weightlifter...Robert E Howard was a proto goon.
Warrior poetry is the best poetry.
A man must learn to be self reliant before he is a master over others. Good poem.
>CRUSH your enemies
>SEE them driven before you
>HEAR the lamentation of the women