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Description:

Jim Blunt—don't trust him with your money; don't trust him with your woman—but if you're looking for the man to storm hell with, he's the one!

Excerpt:

From "Shallalu"
It was a shadowy; half-transparent shape like a massive dog; but much larger than any dog had a business being. As its huge head; which trailed low to the ground; swung this way and that; Blunt could see that out of its bulky shoulders grew two extra limbs. The little arms were strangely stiff; they seemed fixed in their peculiar upward posture. But the arms terminated in many disemboweling claws; the mouth; as it lifted its head and howled; was filled with triangular shark-like serrations. And though he could see the rough stone behind its long; sinewy body; he could not see through its claws—or its teeth...

From "The Thief of Joy & Light"
Jim Blunt braced his shoulders against the stone at his back; his intent gaze stabbing the shrouded corners of his refuge. In his slightly raised left hand; half-concealed by the tense curve of his fingers; was a flat small weapon. It was not as deadly as the other; the one whose ever-chilled metal and weight numbed his naked thigh beneath the lank Aspian robe. But it was silent. And even here; on mad Fzil; world and city; crazed theme park of theology; it was prudent to do murder silently...

From "The Embrace of the Four-Armed Houri"
The mountain stood dominant; an Everest shaped by fire and ash. Its febrile heart lit the smoke-blackened sky; spewing forth its incandescent guts in a ceaseless rain of molten cinders. Lightning stuttered through its endless cloud; stinking of poison and the brimstone heart of hell. It was a mighty pustule on the skin of the world; an inflamed boil that could never be appeased or salved; even by the death of a woman...

From "The Dream Miners"
The dank mustiness of the deep pervaded Blunt's lungs. He heard the slow drip of unseen water; and the moan of the wind rushing up the shaft. He fingered the beam-light hung on his belt; but there was; perhaps; no need for its aid: below the descending plate was a faint; spectral gleam. It was the light of the dream-stones; and as the cage sank; the light grew brighter and brighter...

From "The Curse of the Dog-faced Mummy"
The unnamed rock they orbited had looked bleak even from outer space; and from his closer vantage; the view was not improved. The dull; huge sun shone red in the dust-darkened sky. Dry rock and rusty red dirt stretched to the clouded horizon. It seemed the only structure on the entire small planet was the tomb itself. That; as Captain Blunt stared at it critically; proved to be a low; featureless dome rising just out of the ground. Before him a long sloping tunnel plunged into obdurate darkness...

Customer Reviews:

A lovely set of old-style pulp tales. Reminiscent of C. L. Moore at her best. Move over Northwest Smith, Captain Blunt is coming through!