Conan

Crom... l have never prayed to you before. l have no tongue for it. No one, not even you, will remember if we were good men or bad. Why we fought or why we died. No. All that matters is that two stood against many. That's what's important. Valor pleases you, Crom, so grant me one request. Grant me revenge. And if you do not listen, then to hell with you.

— The gods are pleased with you. They will watch the battle.
— Are they going to help?
— No.
— Then tell them to stay out of the way.

— What gods do you pray to?
— I pray to the Four Winds. And you?
— To Crom. But I seldom pray to him. He doesn't listen.
— What good is he then? It's just as I've always said.
— He's strong. If I die, I have to go before him and he will ask, what's the rule of steel? If I don't know it, he will cast me away. That's Crom, strong on his mountain.
— My god is greater.
— Crom laughs from his mountain at your Four Winds.
— My god is stronger. He is the everlasting sky. Crom lives underneath him.

— We won again! This is good. But what is best in life?
— The open steppe. Fleet horse. Falcons at your wrist and the wind in your hair.
— Wrong! Conan, what is best in life?
— To crush your enemies, see them driven before you and to hear the lamentation of their women.
— That is good.

For us, there is no spring.

— After we return to Shadizar, what will you do?
— I'll find my kingdom and a queen to sit beside me.

— I suppose nothing hurts you.
— Only pain.