The Conquering Sword of Conan

( 21 )

Overview

"In a meteoric career that covered only a dozen years, Robert E. Howard defined the sword-and-sorcery genre. In doing so, he brought to life the archetypal adventurer known to millions around the world as Conan the barbarian." "Witness, then, Howard at his finest, and Conan at his most savage, in the latest volume featuring the collected works of Robert E. Howard, illustrated by artist Greg Manchess. Prepared directly from the earliest known versions - often Howard's own manuscripts - are such sword-and-sorcery classics as "The Servants of
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The Conquering Sword of Conan

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Overview

"In a meteoric career that covered only a dozen years, Robert E. Howard defined the sword-and-sorcery genre. In doing so, he brought to life the archetypal adventurer known to millions around the world as Conan the barbarian." "Witness, then, Howard at his finest, and Conan at his most savage, in the latest volume featuring the collected works of Robert E. Howard, illustrated by artist Greg Manchess. Prepared directly from the earliest known versions - often Howard's own manuscripts - are such sword-and-sorcery classics as "The Servants of Bit-Yakin" (formerly published as "Jewels of Gwahlur'), "Beyond the Black River," "The Black Stranger," "The Man-Eaters of Zamboula" (formerly published as "Shadows in Zamboula"), and, perhaps his most famous adventure of all, "Red Nails."" The Conquering Sword of Conan includes never-before-published outlines, notes, and story drafts, plus a new introduction, personal correspondence, and the revealing essay "Hyborian Genesis" - which chronicles the history of the creation of the Conan series.
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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"McLaren's presentation of the complexities of [Conan] makes him believable as an adventurer who has wide experience." —-AudioFile
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780345461537
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 11/29/2005
  • Series: Conan Series
  • Pages: 416
  • Sales rank: 329,601
  • Product dimensions: 6.13 (w) x 9.19 (h) x 0.83 (d)

Meet the Author


Robert E. Howard (1906–1936), an American pulp fiction writer who is best known as the creator of Conan, wrote a huge number of stories in a variety of genres, including fantasy, westerns, horror, and even boxing stories.

Former radio broadcaster Todd McLaren has been heard on more than 5,000 TV and radio commercials; narrations for documentaries on such networks as A&E and the History Channel; and films. His book narrations have earned him a prestigious Audie Award as well as a Publishers Weekly Listen-Up Award.

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Read an Excerpt

The Servants of Bit-Yakin

I Paths of Intrigue

The cliffs rose sheer from the jungle, towering ramparts of stone that glinted jade blue and dull crimson in the rising sun, and curved away and away to east and west above the waving emerald ocean of fronds and leaves. It looked insurmountable, that giant palisade with its sheer curtains of solid rock in which bits of quartz winked dazzlingly in the sunlight. But the man who was working his tedious way upward was already half way to the top.

He came of a race of hillmen, accustomed to scaling forbidding crags, and he was a man of unusual strength and agility. His only garment was a pair of short red silk breeks, and his sandals were slung to his back, out of his way, as were his sword and dagger.

He was a powerfully built man, supple as a panther. His skin was brown, bronzed by the sun, his square-cut black mane confined by a silver band about his temples. His iron muscles, quick eye and sure foot served him well here, for it was a climb to test these qualities to the utmost. A hundred and fifty feet below him waved the jungle. An equal distance above him the rim of the cliffs was etched clear-cut against the morning sky.

He labored like one driven by the necessity of haste, yet he was forced to move at a snail’s pace, clinging like a fly on a wall. His groping hands and feet found niches and knobs, precarious holds at best, and sometimes he virtually hung by his finger nails. Yet upward he went, clawing, squirming, fighting for every foot. At times he paused to rest his aching muscles, and, shaking the sweat out of his eyes, twisted his head to stare searchingly out over the jungle, combing the green expanse for any trace of human life or motion.

Now the summit was not far above him, and he observed, only a few feet above his head, a break in the sheer stone of the cliff. An instant later he had reached it – a small cavern, just below the edge of the rim. As his head rose above the lip of its floor, he grunted. He clung there, his elbows hooked over the lip. The cave was so tiny that it was little more than a niche cut in the stone, but it held an occupant. A shrivelled brown mummy, cross-legged, arms folded on the withered breast upon which the shrunken head was sunk, sat in the little cavern. The limbs were bound in place with rawhide thongs which had become mere rotted wisps. If the form had ever been clothed, the ravages of time had long reduced the garments to dust. But thrust between the crossed arms and the shrunken breast there was a roll of parchment, yellowed with age to the color of old ivory.

The climber stretched forth a long arm and wrenched away this cylinder. Without investigation he thrust it into his girdle and hauled himself up until he was standing in the opening of the niche. A spring upward and he caught the rim of the cliffs and pulled himself up and over almost with the same motion.

There he halted, panting, and stared downward.

It was like looking into the interior of a vast bowl, rimmed by a circular stone wall. The floor of the bowl was covered with trees and denser vegetation, though nowhere did the growth duplicate the jungle denseness of the outer forest. The cliffs marched around it without a break and of uniform height. It was a freak of nature, not to be paralleled, perhaps, in the whole world: a vast natural amphitheater, a circular bit of forested plain, three or four miles in diameter, cut off from the rest of the world, and confined within the ring of those palisaded cliffs.

But the man on the cliffs did not devote his thoughts to marvelling at the topographical phenomenon. With tense eagerness he searched the tree-tops below him, and exhaled a gusty sigh when he caught the glint of marble domes amidst the twinkling green. It was no myth, then; below him lay the fabulous and deserted palace of Alkmeenon.

Conan the Cimmerian, late of the Barachan Isles, of the Black Coast, and of many other climes where life ran wild, had come to the kingdom of Keshan following the lure of a fabled treasure that outshone the hoard of the Turanian kings.

Keshan was a barbaric kingdom lying in the eastern hinterlands of Kush where the broad grass lands merge with the forests that roll up from the south. The people were a mixed race, a dusky nobility ruling a population that was largely pure negro. The rulers – princes and high priests – claimed descent from a white race which, in a mythical age, had ruled a kingdom whose capital city was Alkmeenon. Conflicting legends sought to explain the reason for that race’s eventual downfall, and the abandonment of the city by the survivors. Equally nebulous were the tales of the Teeth of Gwahlur, the treasure of Alkmeenon. But these misty legends had been enough to bring Conan to Keshan, over vast distances of plain, river-laced jungle, and mountains.

He had found Keshan, which in itself was considered mythical by many northern and western nations, and he had heard enough to confirm the rumors of the treasure that men called the Teeth of Gwahlur. But its hiding place he could not learn, and he was confronted with the necessity of explaining his presence in Keshan. Unattached strangers were not welcome there.

But he was not nonplused. With cool assurance he made his offer to the stately, plumed, suspicious grandees of the barbarically magnificent court. He was a professional fighting man. In search of employment (he said) he had come to Keshan. For a price he would train the armies of Keshan and lead them against Punt, their hereditary enemy, whose recent successes in the field had roused the fury of Keshan’s irascible king.

This proposition was not as audacious as it might seem. Conan’s fame had preceded him, even into distant Keshan; his exploits as a chief of the black corsairs, those wolves of the southern coasts, had made his name known, admired and feared throughout the black kingdoms. He did not refuse tests devised by the dusky lords. Skirmishes along the borders were incessant, affording the Cimmerian plenty of opportunities to demonstrate his ability at hand-to-hand fighting. His reckless ferocity impressed the lords of Keshan, already aware of his reputation as a leader of men, and the prospects seemed favourable. All Conan secretly desired was employment to give him legitimate excuse for remaining in Keshan long enough to locate the hiding place of the Teeth of Gwahlur. Then there came an interruption. Thutmekri came to Keshan at the head of an embassy from Zembabwei.

Thutmekri was a Stygian, an adventurer and a rogue whose wits had recommended him to the twin kings of the great hybrid trading kingdom which lay many days’ march to the east. He and the Cimmerian knew one another of old, and without love. Thutmekri likewise had a proposition to make to the king of Keshan, and it also concerned the conquest of Punt – which kingdom, incidentally, lying east of Keshan, had recently expelled the Zembabwan traders and burned their fortresses.

His offer outweighed even the prestige of Conan. He pledged himself to invade Punt from the east with a host of black spearmen, Shemitish archers, and mercenary swordsmen, and to aid the king of Keshan to annex the hostile kingdom. The benevolent kings of Zembabwei desired only the monopoly of the trade of Keshan and her tributaries – and, as a pledge of good faith, some of the Teeth of Gwahlur. These would be put to no base usage, Thutmekri hastened to explain to the suspicious chieftains; they would be placed in the temple of Zembabwei beside the squat gold idols of Dagon and Derketo, sacred guests in the holy shrine of the kingdom, to seal the covenant between Keshan and Zembabwei. This statement brought a savage grin to Conan’s hard lips.

The Cimmerian made no attempt to match wits and intrigue with Thutmekri and his Shemitish partner, Zargheba. He knew that if Thutmekri won his point, he would insist on the instant banishment of his rival. There was but one thing for Conan to do: find the jewels before the king of Keshan made up his mind, and flee with them. But by this time he was certain that they were not hidden in Keshia, the royal city, which was a swarm of thatched huts crowding about a mud wall that enclosed a palace of stone and mud and bamboo.

While he fumed with nervous impatience, the high priest Gorulga announced that before any decision could be reached, the will of the gods must be ascertained concerning the proposed alliance with Zembabwei and the pledge of objects long held holy and inviolate. The oracle of Alkmeenon must be consulted.

This was an awesome thing, that caused tongues to wag excitedly in palace and bee-hive hut. Not for a century had the priests visited the silent city. The oracle, men said, was the Princess Yelaya, the last ruler of Alkmeenon, who had died in the full bloom of her youth and beauty, and whose body had miraculously remained unblemished throughout the ages. Of old priests had made their way into the haunted city, and she had taught them wisdom. The last priest to seek the oracle had been a wicked man, who had sought to steal for himself the curiously-cut jewels that men called the Teeth of Gwahlur. But some doom had come upon him in the deserted palace, from which his acolytes, fleeing, had told tales of horror that had for a hundred years frightened the priests from the city and the oracle.

But Gorulga, the present high priest, as one confident in his knowledge of his own integrity, announced that he would go with a handful of followers to revive the ancient custom. And in the excitement tongues buzzed indiscreetly, and Conan caught the clue for which he had sought for weeks – the overheard whisper of a lesser priest that sent the Cimmerian stealing out of Keshia the night before the dawn when the priests were to start.

Riding hard as he dared for a night and a day and a night, he came in the early dawn to the cliffs of Alkmeenon, which stood in the southwestern corner of the kingdom, amidst uninhabited jungle which was taboo to common men. None but the priests dared approach the haunted city within a distance of many miles. And not even a priest had entered Alkmeenon for a hundred years.

No man had ever climbed these cliffs, legends said, and none but the priests knew the secret entrance into the valley. Conan did not waste time looking for it. Steeps that balked these black people, horsemen and dwellers of plain and level forest, were not impossible for a man born in the rugged hills of Cimmeria.

Now on the summit of the cliffs he looked down into the circular valley and wondered what plague, war or superstition had driven the members of that ancient white race forth from their stronghold to mingle with and be absorbed by the black tribes that hemmed them in.

This valley had been their citadel. There the palace stood, and there only the royal family and their court dwelt. The real city stood outside the cliffs. Those waving masses of green jungle vegetation hid its ruins. But the domes that glistened in the leaves below him were the unbroken pinnacles of the royal palace of Alkmeenon which had defied the corroding ages.

Swinging a leg over the rim he went down swiftly. The inner side of the cliffs was more broken, not quite so sheer. In less than half the time it had taken him to ascend the outer side, he dropped to the swarded valley floor.

With one hand on his sword, he looked alertly about him. There was no reason to suppose men lied when they said that Alkmeenon was empty and deserted, haunted only by the ghosts of the dead past. But it was Conan’s nature to be suspicious and wary. The silence was primordial; not even a leaf quivered on a branch. When he bent to peer under the trees, he saw nothing but the marching rows of trunks, receding and receding into the blue gloom of the deep woods.

Nevertheless he went warily, sword in hand, his restless eyes combing the shadows from side to side, his springy tread making no sound on the sward. All about him he saw signs of an ancient civilization; marble fountains, voiceless and crumbling, stood in circles of slender trees whose patterns were too symmetrical to have been a chance of nature. Forest-growth and underbrush had invaded the evenly-planned groves, but their outlines were still visible. Broad pavements ran away under the trees, broken, and with grass growing through the wide cracks. He glimpsed walls with ornamental copings, lattices of carven stone that might once have served as the walls of pleasure pavilions.

Ahead of him, through the trees, the domes gleamed and the bulk of the structure supporting them became more apparent as he advanced. Presently, pushing through a screen of vine-tangled branches, he came into a comparatively open space where the trees straggled, unencumbered by undergrowth, and saw before him the wide, pillared portico of the palace.

As he mounted the broad marble steps, he noted that the building was in far better state of preservation than the lesser structures he had glimpsed. The thick walls and massive pillars seemed too powerful to crumble before the assault of time and the elements. The same enchanted quiet brooded over all. The catlike pad of his sandalled feet seemed startlingly loud in the stillness.

Somewhere in this palace lay the effigy or image which had in times past served as oracle for the priests of Keshan. And somewhere in the palace, unless that indiscreet priest had babbled a lie, was hidden the treasure of the forgotten kings of Alkmeenon.

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Customer Reviews

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( 21 )
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 21 Customer Reviews
  • Posted September 21, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    Storytelling from the Master

    The stories of Conan by Robert E. Howard are nothing short of genius. For the first time in over 50 years the unaltered publications of Howard's most iconic character are available in print. Over 30 stories collected in 3 books. These include several never before published extras and stories that have not seen distribution since their original debut in Weird Tales magazine. The foundation of the Sword and Sorcery genre lies within Conan! The Coming of Conan the Cimmerian, The Bloody Crown of Conan, The Conquering Sword of Conan.

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  • Posted February 9, 2009

    I Also Recommend:

    The Conquering Sword of Conan

    If you want some good action packed sword and sorcery this is your book. Its nice to read something that is original, easy to read, and just plain old fun. I highly recommend this book to any fantasy readers out there. I would also recommend if you like this book and want to read more save the BLOODY CROWN OF CONAN for last.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted December 14, 2008

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    I Also Recommend:

    ROBERT E. HOWARD THE BEST THERE IS, THE BEST THERE WAS, AND EVER WILL BE!

    Robert E. Howard was an extra-ordindary creative writer and poet who in my opinion was the best! His vision, talent, creative writing, and action packed stories can and will never be replicated! If you've never read a REH story before it's similar to putting on eyeglasses for the first time. It's like WoW! You can actually see for the first time in crisp clarity of the world around you. Same way with REH's stories and poems. Unbelievable! If you're just now starting to read REH the next book for you should be Blood & Thunder, The Life & Art of REH by Mark Finn. Then after that get anything of REH by Glenn Lord, Don Herron, Paul Herman, Rob Roehm, Roy Thomas, Dark Horse, Marvel, The Keegans, and everyone else who has kept REH's legacy alive and well. Check out the REH Foundation & Forum!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 8, 2008

    worth buying

    This book contains many stories that captivate the imagination. Red Nails and The Black Stranger are among my favorites in this book. Robert E. Howard does a great job showing the many different sides of Conan.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 6, 2008

    Robert E. Howard The Best!

    Robert E. Howard was an extra-ordindary creative writer who in my opinion was the best! His vision, talent, creative writing, and action packed stories can and will never be replicated! To learn more about this unique man read The Life and Art of Robert E. Howard by Mark Finn. Also, read the Best of Robert E. Howard 1 & 2. Number two has my favorites Red Nails, Beyond The Black River, and scariest story EVER Pigeons From Hell! Be sure to read it at night with plenty of light.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 19, 2007

    Following Conan for years

    I've been reading about Conan since the first edition of 'Conan the Barbarian MOVIE SPECIAL' came out in October of 1982 in Marvel Comics - and I've loved it ever since. This book contains many tales of adventure and intrigue that all Conan fans will love. Read it!

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  • Posted December 9, 2008

    more from this reviewer

    fine Conan collection

    This particular Conan collection contains five of Robert E Howard's tales (Servants of Bit-Yakin, Red Nails, The Black Stranger, Beyond the Black River, and The Man-Eaters of Zamboula). Fans of the series know these are some of the best Conan escapades with plenty said on each. However, what make the compilation fun are the extras added on top of the thrillers. Included are early drafts of Mr. Howard¿s tales, an insightful essay the Hyborian Genesis that this reviewer found fascinating, and additional analysis of the recurring themes especially honor and death found in the Conan stories. As always the illustrations provided this time by Gregory Munches are top rate, but also seem so different than that of Gary Gianni's in Bloody Crown of Conan. Obviously targeting Howard fans, those who sword and sorcery fans who have not read the works of the founding father will also appreciate this anthology as the pride and courage of Conan stands out in every escapade in each of these incredible adventures. --- Harriet Klausner

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  • Anonymous

    Posted December 2, 2005

    Howard's best stories

    These are the best of Howard's stories: Red Nails, Beyond the Black River, and many others. The illustrations are excellent. This is the real Conan: intelligent, articulate and extremely savage. The editors included Howard's 1st and 2nd drafts of the stories in the appendix so the reader is able to see Howard working out the plot.

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    Posted December 16, 2008

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