Their gaze hung on his brown, frowning face.
'Then if I am one of the Brotherhood,' he grunted, 'the laws of the Trade apply to me; and since I killed your chief in fair fight, then I am your captain!'
There was no dissent. The pirates were too cowed and battered to have any thought except a desire to get away from that island of fear. Conan's gaze sought out the blood-stained figure of the Corinthian.
'How, Ivanos!' he challenged. 'You took my part, once. Will you uphold my claims again?'
'Aye, by Mitra!' The pirate, sensing the trend of feeling, was eager to ingratiate himself with the Cimmerian. 'He is right, lads; he is our lawful captain!'
A medley of acquiescence rose, lacking enthusiasm perhaps, but with sincerity accentuated by the feel of the silent woods behind them which might mask creeping ebony devils with red eyes and dripping talons.
'Swear by the hilt,' Conan demanded.
Forty-four sword-hilts were lifted toward him, and forty-four voices blended in the corsair's oath of allegiance.
Conan grinned and sheathed his sword. 'Come aboard, my bold swashbucklers, and take the oars.'
He turned and lifted Olivia to her feet, from where she had crouched shielded by the gunwales.