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The Spawn of Lilithu: A Tale of Thurl The Wanderer
The Spawn of Lilithu: A Tale of Thurl The Wanderer
The Spawn of Lilithu: A Tale of Thurl The Wanderer
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The Spawn of Lilithu: A Tale of Thurl The Wanderer

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Deep in the haunted woods of the antediluvian world Thurl the Gaelg has stumbled upon an ancient inn that houses an evil born from the very pits of hell. With his wits and his mighty sword arm will the Gaelg find himself the next victim of The Spawn of Lilithu?

LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 16, 2017
ISBN9781386149965
The Spawn of Lilithu: A Tale of Thurl The Wanderer

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    Book preview

    The Spawn of Lilithu - William M. Hope

    Chapter 1

    "T hey say foul things of Old Times still lurk

    In dark forgotten corners of the world.

    And Gates still gape to loose, on certain nights.

    Shapes pent in Hell."

    —Robert E. Howard

    IT WAS THE CLOSING of the day with the red sun setting in the west. The night would soon be wrapping her spindly black fingers around the trees making traveling through the forest a dangerous undertaking. Along a vague scar of a trail, two travelers and their mounts were making their weary way.

    The two men were a study in contrasts. The first man, who deemed himself the superior of the pair, was bald and squat. His tonsured head and black robes made him out to be of the Tarantine sect of the worshippers of Dyas. The other was his opposite; a giant of a man, dark of hair and beard. His clothes belied that he had traveled widely—a rough woven brown kilt ending above high boots, a peasant’s tunic covered with a chain shirt, a fur-lined cloak and a simple helmet of Tyrian manufacture. His ensemble was finished by the broad sword strapped to his waist.  Even though the cleric thought he was the better man, with his education and high birth in this environment the other man was.

    Even their horses were a contrast with the cleric’s being one of the light ponies that are bred in Tarantium for noblemen who crave speed and the warrior’s being the heavy black haired brutes with curved horns bred by the Vanahir to pull a plow through the frozen fields of the Northlands, but this one was purchased by his master to be a mount. The irony of a something bred for the farmer but now a warrior’s mount amused the black haired warrior greatly.

    The dark was slowly creeping through the woods on all side. With the

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