Robert E.Howard

In the old free days all I wanted was a sharp sword and a straight path to my enemies. Now no paths are straight and my sword is useless

What do I know of cultured ways, the gilt, the craft and the lie?
I, who was born in a naked land and bred in the open sky.
The subtle tongue, the sophist guile, they fail when the broadswords sing;
Rush in and die, dogs—I was a man before I was a king