The More I See Of What You

He Was . . . A Strange Blending Of Puritan And Cavalier, With A Touch Of The Ancient Philosopher, And More Than A Touch Of The Pagan. . . . A Hunger In His Soul Drove Him On And On, An Urge To Right All Wrongs, Protect All Weaker Things. . . . Wayward And Restless As The Wind, He Was Consistent In Only One Respect—he Was True To His Ideals Of Justice And Right. Such Was Solomon Kane.

I Have Accomplished Little Enough, But Such As It Is, It Is The Result Of My Own Efforts.

Some Mechanism In My Sub-consciousness Took The Dominant Characteristics Of Various Prize-fighters, Gunmen, Bootleggers, Oil Field Bullies, Gamblers, And Honest Workmen I Had Come In Contact With, And Combining Them All, Produced The Amalgamation I Call Conan The Cimmerian.

The Only Safe Enemy Was A Headless Enemy.

Coming, As I Do, From Mountain Folk On One Side And Sea Followers On The Other, There Are Few Old Songs Of The Hills Or The Sea With Which I Am Not Familiar.