Countries without law

A murderous world and in it an even more murderous man: Waharg is Clint Eastwood at his most badass, and it doesn't change the fact that he carries a damn hefty sword instead of revolvers slung damn low.

I love westerns. And I love fantasy. I find both in this book. It's as if Conan has wandered into Sergio Leone's best films. Jindřich Rohlík is not afraid to take western clichés and turn them into a fantasy that can be read in one breath, and the dust of the desert almost rises from the pages as a group of hunters drives a staggering herd through it.

Rohlik, like a good gunslinger, doesn't show off and stares into the face of western and fantasy only until the other party lowers his eyes and passes him a glass of brandy. Its sun is hot, its earth is dusty, its men and women are rough and its sword wounds are strong. And the stranger who just arrives in town is the right kind of dark, old-school hombre.

Although giants, dracodaurs and the undead gradually appear, this is more a western than a fantasy, with a hero who can tell the whole war in one glance. The story has a dignified and stylish ending, after which you'll be a little sorry you don't have the next volume to hand.