{"product_id":"the-bloody-crown-of-conan-isbn-9780345461520","title":"The Bloody Crown of Conan","description":"\u003cb\u003eIn his hugely influential and tempestuous career, Robert E. Howard created the genre  that came to be known as sword and sorcery—and brought to life one of fantasy’s boldest  and most enduring figures: Conan the Cimmerian—reaver, slayer, barbarian, king.\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Stories such as ‘The People of the Black Circle’ glow with the fierce and eldritch light of [Howard’s] frenzied intensity.”—Stephen King\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This lavishly illustrated volume gathers together three of Howard’s longest and most  famous Conan stories–two of them printed for the first time directly from Howard’ s typescript–along with a collection of the author’s previously unpublished and rarely  seen outlines, notes, and drafts. Longtime fans and new readers alike will agree  that \u003ci\u003eThe Bloody Crown of Conan\u003c\/i\u003e merits a place of honor on every fantasy lover’s bookshelf.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eTHE PEOPLE OF THE BLACK CIRCLE\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Amid the towering crags of Vendhya, in the shadowy  citadel of the Black Circle, Yasmina of the golden throne seeks vengeance against  the Black Seers. Her only ally is also her most formidable enemy–Conan, the outlaw  chief.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eTHE HOUR OF THE DRAGON\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/b\u003eToppled from the throne of Aquilonia by the evil machinations  of an undead wizard, Conan must find the fabled jewel known as the Heart of Ahriman  to reclaim his crown . . . and save his life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cb\u003eA WITCH SHALL BE BORN\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/b\u003eA malevolent  witch of evil beauty. An enslaved queen. A kingdom in the iron grip of ruthless mercenaries.  And Conan, who plots deadly vengeance against the human wolf who left him in the  desert to die.“Stories such as “The People of the Black Circle” glow with the fierce and eldritch light of his frenzied intensity.”\u003cbr\u003e–STEPHEN KING\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“I adore these books. Howard had a gritty, vibrant style–broadsword writing that cut its way to the heart, with heroes who are truly larger than life. I heartily recommend them to anyone who loves fantasy.”\u003cbr\u003e–DAVID GEMMELL, author of \u003ci\u003eLegend\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eWhite Wolf\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eRobert E. Howard\u003c\/b\u003e is one of the most prolific short story writers in American history, and has created such beloved characters as Conan the Barbarian, Kull of Atlantis, Soloman Kane, Bran Mak Morn, El Borak, and Dark Agnès de Chastillon. He tragically passed away in 1936.Chapter 1\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe People of the Black Circle I\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDeath Strikes a King\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe king of Vendhya was dying. Through the hot, stifling night the  temple gongs boomed and the conchs roared. Their clamor was a faint  echo in the gold-domed chamber where Bunda Chand struggled on the  velvet-cushioned dais. Beads of sweat glistened on his dark skin; his  fingers twisted the gold-worked fabric beneath him. He was young; no  spear had touched him, no poison lurked in his wine. But his veins  stood out like blue cords on his temples, and his eyes dilated with  the nearness of death. Trembling slave-girls knelt at the foot of the  dais, and leaning down to him, watching him with passionate  intensity, was his sister, the Devi Yasmina. With her was the wazam,  a noble grown old in the royal court.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe threw up her head in a gusty gesture of wrath and despair  as the thunder of the distant drums reached her ears.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The priests and their clamor!\" she exclaimed. \"They are no  wiser than the leeches who are helpless! Nay, he dies and none can  say why. He is dying now - and I stand here helpless, who would burn  the whole city and spill the blood of thousands to save him.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Not a man of Ayodhya but would die in his place, if it might  be, Devi,\" answered the wazam. \"This poison - \"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I tell you it is not poison!\" she cried. \"Since his birth he  has been guarded so closely that the cleverest poisoners of the East  could not reach him. Five skulls bleaching on the Tower of the Kites  can testify to attempts which were made - and which failed. As you  well know, there are ten men and ten women whose sole duty is to  taste his food and wine, and fifty armed warriors guard his chamber  as they guard it now. No, it is not poison; it is sorcery - black,  ghastly magic - \"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe ceased as the king spoke; his livid lips did not move,  and there was no recognition in his glassy eyes. But his voice rose  in an eery call, indistinct and far away, as if he called to her from  beyond vast, wind-blown gulfs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yasmina! Yasmina! My sister, where are you? I can not find  you. All is darkness, and the roaring of great winds!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Brother!\" cried Yasmina, catching his limp hand in a  convulsive grasp. \"I am here! Do you not know me - \"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHer voice died at the utter vacancy of his face. A low  confused moaning waned from his mouth. The slave-girls at the foot of  the dais whimpered with fear, and Yasmina beat her breast in her  anguish.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn another part of the city a man stood in a latticed balcony  overlooking a long street in which torches tossed luridly, smokily  revealing upturned dark faces and the whites of gleaming eyes. A  long-drawn wailing rose from the multitude.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe man shrugged his broad shoulders and turned back into the  arabesqued chamber. He was a tall man, compactly built, and richly  clad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The king is not yet dead, but the dirge is sounded,\" he said  to another man who sat cross-legged on a mat in a corner. This man  was clad in a brown camel-hair robe and sandals, and a green turban  was on his head. His expression was tranquil, his gaze impersonal.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The people know he will never see another dawn,\" this man answered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe first speaker favored him with a long, searching stare.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What I can not understand,\" he said, \"is why I have had to  wait so long for your masters to strike. If they have slain the king  now, why could they not have slain him months ago?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Even the arts you call sorcery are governed by cosmic laws,\"  answered the man in the green turban. \"The stars direct these  actions, as in other affairs. Not even my masters can alter the  stars. Not until the heavens were in the proper order could they  perform this necromancy.\" With a long, stained finger-nail he mapped  the constellations on the marble-tiled floor. \"The slant of the moon  presaged evil for the king of Vendhya; the stars are in turmoil, the  Serpent in the House of the Elephant. During such juxtaposition, the  invisible guardians are removed from the spirit of Bhunda Chand. A  path is opened in the unseen realms, and once a point of contact was  established, mighty powers were put in play along that path.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Point of contact?\" inquired the other. \"Do you mean that  lock of Bhunda Chand's hair?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes. All discarded portions of the human body still remain  part of it, attached to it by intangible connections. The priests of  Asura have a dim inkling of this truth, and so all nail-trimmings,  hair and other waste products of the persons of the royal family are  carefully reduced to ashes and the ashes hidden. But at the urgent  entreaty of the princess of Khosala, who loved Bhunda Chand vainly,  he gave her a lock of his long black hair as a token of remembrance.  When my masters decided upon his doom, the lock, in its golden,  jewel-crusted case, was stolen from under her pillow while she slept,  and another substituted, so like the first that she never knew the  difference. Then the genuine lock travelled by camel-caravan up the  long, long road to Peshkhauri, thence up the Zhaibar Pass, until it  reached the hands of those for whom it was intended.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Only a lock of hair,\" murmured the nobleman.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"By which a soul is drawn from its body and across gulfs of  echoing space,\" returned the man on the mat.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe nobleman studied him curiously.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I do not know if you are a man or a demon, Khemsa,\" he said  at last. \"Few of us are what we seem. I, whom the Kshatriyas know as  Kerim Shah, a prince from Iranistan, am no greater a masquerader than  most men. They are all traitors in one way or another, and half of  them know not whom they serve. There at least I have no doubts; for I  serve King Yezdigerd of Turan.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"And I the Black Seers of Yimsha,\" said Khemsa; \"and my  masters are greater than yours, for they have accomplished by their  arts what Yezdigerd could not with a hundred thousand swords.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOutside, the moan of the tortured thousands shuddered up to the stars  which crusted the sweating Vendhyan night, and the conchs bellowed  like oxen in pain.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn the gardens of the palace the torches glinted on polished  helmets and curved swords and gold-chased corselets. All the  noble-born fighting-men of Ayodhya were gathered in the great palace  or about it, and at each broad-arched gate and door fifty archers  stood on guard, with bows in their hands. But Death stalked through  the royal palace and none could stay his ghostly tread.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn the dais under the golden dome the king cried out again,  racked by awful paroxysms. Again his voice came faintly and far away,  and again the Devi bent to him, trembling with a fear that was darker  than the terror of death.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yasmina!\" Again that far, weirdly dreeing cry, from realms  immeasurable. \"Aid me! I am far from my mortal house! Wizards have  drawn my soul through the wind-blown darkness. They seek to snap the  silver cord that binds me to my dying body. They cluster around me;  their hands are taloned, their eyes are red like flame burning in  darkness. Aie, save me, my sister! Their fingers sear me like fire!  They would slay my body and damn my soul! What is this they bring  before me? - Aie!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt the terror in his hopeless cry Yasmina screamed  uncontrollably and threw herself bodily upon him in the abandon of  her anguish. He was torn by a terrible convulsion; foam flew from his  contorted lips and his writhing fingers left their marks on the  girl's shoulders. But the glassy blankness passed from his eyes like  smoke blown from a fire, and he looked up at his sister with  recognition.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Brother!\" she sobbed. \"Brother - \"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Swift!\" he gasped, and his weakening voice was rational. \"I  know now what brings me to the pyre. I have been on a far journey and  I understand. I have been ensorceled by the wizards of the Himelians.  They drew my soul out of my body and far away, into a stone room.  There they strove to break the silver cord of life, and thrust my  soul into the body of a foul night-weird their sorcery summoned up  from hell. Ah! I feel their pull upon me now! Your cry and the grip  of your fingers brought me back, but I am going fast. My soul clings  to my body, but its hold weakens. Quick - kill me, before they can  trap my soul for ever!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I can not!\" she wailed, smiting her naked breasts.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Swiftly, I command you!\" There was the old imperious note in  his failing whisper. \"You have never disobeyed me - obey my last  command! Send my soul clean to Asura! Haste, lest you damn me to  spend eternity as a filthy gaunt of darkness. Strike, I command you!  Strike!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSobbing wildly, Yasmina plucked a jeweled dagger from her  girdle and plunged it to the hilt in his breast. He stiffened and  then went limp, a grim smile curving his dead lips. Yasmina hurled  herself face-down on the rush-covered floor, beating the reeds with  her clenched hands. Outside, the gongs and conchs brayed and  thundered and the priests gashed themselves with copper knives.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eII\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA Barbarian from the Hills\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChunder Shan, governor of Peshkhauri, laid down his golden pen and  carefully scanned that which he had written on parchment that bore  his official seal. He had ruled Peshkhauri so long only because he  weighed his every word, spoken or written. Danger breeds caution, and  only a wary man lives long in that wild country where the hot  Vendhyan plains meet the crags of the Himelians. An hour's ride  westward or northward and one crossed the border and was among the  hills where men lived by the law of the knife.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe governor was alone in his chamber, seated at his  ornately-carven table of inlaid ebony. Through the wide window, open  for the coolness, he could see a square of the blue Himelian night,  dotted with great white stars. An adjacent parapet was a shadowy  line, and further crenelles and embrasures were barely hinted at in  the dim starlight. The governor's fortress was strong, and situated  outside the walls of the city it guarded. The breeze that stirred the  tapestries on the wall brought faint noises from the streets of  Peshkhauri - occasional snatches of wailing song, or the thrum of a  cithern.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe governor read what he had written, slowly, with his open  hand shading his eyes from the bronze butter-lamp, his lips moving.  Absently, as he read, he heard the drum of horses' hoofs outside the  barbican, the sharp staccato of the guards' challenge. He did not  heed, intent upon his letter. It was addressed to the wazam of  Vendhya, at the royal court of Ayodhya, and it stated, after the  customary salutations:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Let it be known to your excellency that I have faithfully carried  out your excellency's instructions. The seven tribesmen are well  guarded in their prison, and I have repeatedly sent word into the  hills that their chief come in person to bargain for their release.  But he has made no move, except to send word that unless they are  freed he will burn Peshkhauri and cover his saddle with my hide,  begging your excellency's indulgence. This he is quite capable of  attempting, and I have tripled the numbers of the lance guards. The  man is not a native of Ghulistan. I can not with certainty predict  his next move. But since it is the wish of the Devi - \"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was out of his ivory chair and on his feet facing the  arched door, all in one instant. He snatched at the curved sword  lying in its ornate scabbard on the table, and then checked the  movement.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was a woman who had entered unannounced, a woman whose  gossamer robes did not conceal the rich garments beneath any more  than they concealed the suppleness and beauty of her tall, slender  figure. A filmy veil fell below her breasts, supported by a flowing  head-dress bound about with a triple gold braid and adorned with a  golden crescent. Her dark eyes regarded the astonished governor over  the veil, and then with an imperious gesture of her white hand, she  uncovered her face.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Devi!\" The governor dropped to his knee before her, his  surprize and confusion somewhat spoiling the stateliness of his  obeisance. With a gesture she motioned him to rise, and he hastened  to lead her to the ivory chair, all the while bowing level with his  girdle. But his first words were of reproof.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Your majesty! This was most unwise! The border is unsettled.  Raids from the hills are incessant. You came with a large attendance?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"An ample retinue followed me to Peshkhauri,\" she answered.  \"I lodged my people there and came on to the fort with my maid,  Gitara.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eChunder Shan groaned in horror.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Devi! You do not understand the peril. An hour's ride from  this spot the hills swarm with barbarians who make a profession of  murder and rapine. Women have been stolen and men stabbed between the  fort and the city. Peshkhauri is not like your southern provinces - \"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"But I am here, and unharmed,\" she interrupted with a trace  of impatience. \"I showed my signet ring to the guard at the gate, and  to the one outside your door, and they admitted me unannounced, not  knowing me, but supposing me to be a secret courier from Ayodhya. Let  us not now waste time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You have received no word from the chief of the barbarians?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"None save threats and curses, Devi. He is wary and  suspicious. He deems it a trap, and perhaps he is not to be blamed.  The Kshatriyas have not always kept their promises to the hill  people.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"He must be brought to terms!\" broke in Yasmina, the knuckles  of her clenched hands showing white.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I do not understand.\" The governor shook his head. \"When I  chanced to capture these seven hillmen, I reported their capture to  the wazam, as is the custom, and then, before I could hang them,  there came an order to hold them and communicate with their chief.  This I did, but the man holds aloof, as I have said. These men are of  the tribe of Afghulis, but he is a foreigner from the west, and he is  called Conan. I have threatened to hang them tomorrow at dawn, if he  does not come.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Good!\" exclaimed the Devi. \"You have done well. And I will  tell you why I have given these orders. My brother - \" she faltered,  choking, and the governor bowed his head, with the customary gesture  of respect for a departed sovereign.","brand":"Random House Worlds","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305435582693,"sku":"NP9780345461520","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345461520.jpg?v=1767738418","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-bloody-crown-of-conan-isbn-9780345461520","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}