Barbaric TreatmentThe noontide sun gleamed off Hrothgar the Northmans rippling thews, and his shaggy mane of golden hair shone. The cheap tunic he wore could not conceal the hard, rangy lines of his frame as he stood astride the path through the narrow pass he had made his own.Barbaric Treatment5 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Voices reached his ears; ears that, although attuned to the clash and clangor of battle, had never been deafened by the clatter and bustle of what men called civilization and so remained alert to the slightest threat: the padded footfall of the wolf, or the quiet hiss of a blade drawn from its sheath. But these were careless voices, chattering and laughing, heedless of the peril that loomed before them in the barbarians mighty person. His grip tightened upon the hilts of the sword which he held before him, its point resting upon the stony earth; and his nostrils flared in fierce anticipation.
Up the slope before him they came: Two youths walking side by side. The one was tall and well-built, ruddy-haired and vigorous,