"Not if you die!" muttered Olgerd, and his hand flickered towards his hilt. But quick as the stroke of a great cat, CONAN's arm shot across the table and his fingers locked on Olgerd's forearm. There was a snap of breaking bones, and for an instant the scene held: the men facing each other motionless as images, perspiration starting out on Olgerd's forehead. CONAN laughed, never easing his grip on the broken arm.From, "A witch Shall Be Born"
Page 380 "The Complete Chronicles of CONAN"
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