Conan the Barbarian Read Online Free PDF Page B

differently. I knelt in the snow, my beloved Fialla dead, her naked child so fragile, nestled in hands covered in blood: that of the Vanir and of your mother, mayhap even some of mine. I knelt on a battlefield where dying men wailed as if infants and called for their mothers—and you remained silent, and your mother would never answer your call. I heard men cheer victory and praise the gods for their survival; yet ’twas your mother’s wish that filled my head. For you, more than fire and blood.”
    Conan’s confusion drew his brows together. “Are you saying she did not want me to be a great warrior?”
    Corin laughed and rested his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Even as she died she knew there would be no preventing that. But she sensed in you, and I have seen in you, the potential for more. You can be the best warrior of your generation. You could be the best warrior of our village. You could make men forget that Connacht ever existed. But those are foothills, and you are destined for mountains, Conan, and the stars. Others see you as born to a great destiny, and I know you are born to great responsibility.”
    “What responsibility, Father?”
    “Responsibilities you will acquire when you are a man full grown. Nothing to worry about at the moment, but there will come a time . . .” Corin came around and sat at the table, stretching out his legs and facing his son. “What you did today was irresponsible. It caused panic, and some of those boys, since panic was their first reaction, will always react that way. We may train that out of them, but you’ve made it that much harder.”
    “Yes, Father.”
    “The first lesson of a great leader, Conan, is not to expect his followers to do what he can do, but to learn what they are capable of, and teach them to do it as best they can. You shamed these boys. Your shame may push them to try harder to redeem themselves. So, this is what you will be doing from now on: you will continue your chores for me and the people in the village. You will not complain. When they tease you, you will hold your tongue and your fist. You will shame them into being better men than you are, and when they fail, you will say nothing.”
    Conan frowned deeply. “Yes, Father.”
    Corin laughed, slapping his hand on the table. “Your mother had that look. I only saw it once directed at me and vowed never to earn it again. Restraining yourself will not be the hardest thing you do in life, Conan; just the hardest thing you’ve done up to now. Aggression is a warrior’s virtue. Restraint is a leader’s. You must promise me to do this.”
    “I promise, Father.”
    “Good.” The smith nodded. “You have half a bargain to keep, and I will offer you the other half. Tomorrow morning you’ll find your sword in the smithy. You’ll put an edge on it, only a hand span from the tip down.”
    The boy’s face lit up as his heart began to pound. “And you will train me. We will fight?”
    “We will, Conan, we will. I have much to teach you, but not immediately.”
    Conan’s shoulders slumped. “Why not?”
    “It’s very simple, my son.” Corin met his son’s blue gaze. “You’re growing, and soon will outgrow that Aquilonian toy. It’s time you learned to forge a blade, a proper Cimmerian blade.”
    The boy stood, weariness forgotten. “Crom made me to wield swords, not to hammer them.”
    “Crom has shaped you, as he shapes us all, to his own cold ends.” Corin shook his head. “But if you want a blade to be part of you, if you want it to live in your hands, then you’re going to help bring it to life.”
     
     
    OVER THE NEXT six weeks Corin marveled at the fact that his son had not bristled or broken, had not cried or complained. The smith had no desire to see his son break; nor did it surprise him when Conan pushed himself beyond where Corin wanted him to go. The boy learned quickly, and while little mistakes and little frustrations might coax an oath from him or a glower, he