My Characters Are More Like Men Than

Know, Oh Prince, That Between The Years When The Oceans Drank Atlantis And The Gleaming Cities, And The Years Of The Rise Of The Sons Of Aryas, There Was An Age Undreamed Of, When Shining Kingdoms Lay Spread Across The World Like Blue Mantles Beneath The Stars.

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.

He Was . . . A Strange Blending Of Puritan And Cavalier, With A Touch Of The Ancient Philosopher, And More Than A Touch Of The Pagan. . . . A Hunger In His Soul Drove Him On And On, An Urge To Right All Wrongs, Protect All Weaker Things. . . . Wayward And Restless As The Wind, He Was Consistent In Only One Respect—he Was True To His Ideals Of Justice And Right. Such Was Solomon Kane.

While We May Open The Books Of The Past, We May But Grant Flying Glances Of The Future, Through The Mist That Veils It.

Every Twinge Of Sensation, Even Of Agony, Was A Negation Of Death.