Aye, you white dog, you are like all your race; but to a black man gold can never pay for blood.
They have no hope here or hereafter, answered Conan. Their gods are Crom and his dark race, who rule over a sunless place of everlasting mist, which is the world of the dead. Mitra! The ways of the Aesir were more to my liking.
I am unable to rouse much interest in any highly civilized race, country or epoch, including this one.