The Fire of Asshurbanipal
By ROBERT E. HOWARD
The tale of a silent dead sea of black
stone set in the drifting sands of the desert,
and of a flaming gem clutched in the bony
fingers of a skeleton on an ancient throne.
Robert E. Howard is dead, but his genius lives on in his fascinating, vivid stories. He had the knack of depicting his characters in action so that they stepped out of the printed page and gripped the sympathies of the readers—Conan the barbarian adventurer—Solomon Kane, the dour Puritan soldier and redresser of wrongs—King Kull, the valiant fighter from the shadowy kingdoms of the world's dawn—heroes all, and doughty men of might. The posthumous weird tale by Mr. Howard presented here, "The Fire of Asshurbanipal," is an outre adventure story of much power. We commend it to you.
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Weird Tales December 1936.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Yar Ali squinted carefully down the blue barrel of his Lee-Enfield, called devoutly on Allah and sent a bullet through the brain of a flying rider.
"Allaho akbar!"
The big Afghan shouted in glee, waving his weapon above his head, "God is great! By Allah, sahib, I have sent another one of the dogs to Hell!"
His companion peered cautiously over the rim of the sand-pit they had scooped with their hands. He was a lean and wiry American, Steve Clarney by name.