With his back to the wall he faced the closing ring for a flashing instant, then leaped into the thick of them.  He was no defensive fighter; even in the teeth of overwhelming odds he always carried the war to the enemy.  Any other man would have already died there, and Conan himself did not hope to survive, but he did ferociously wish to inflict as much damage as he could before he fell.  His barbaric soul was ablaze, and the chants of old heroes were singing in his ears.