{"product_id":"the-conquering-sword-of-conan-isbn-9780345461537","title":"The Conquering Sword of Conan","description":"\u003cb\u003e“For headling, nonstop adventure and for vivid, even florid, scenery, no one even comes close to Howard.”—Harry Turtledove\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e 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.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Witness, then, Howard at his finest, and Conan at his most  savage, in the latest volume featuring the collected works of Robert E. Howard, lavishly  illustrated by award-winning 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,” “Man-Eaters of Zamboula” (formerly published  as “Shadows in Zamboula”), and, perhaps his most famous adventure of all, “Red Nails.”\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003ci\u003eThe Conquering Sword of Conan \u003c\/i\u003eincludes 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. Truly, this is heroic fantasy at its finest.“Howard’s writing seems so highly charged with energy that it nearly gives off sparks.”\u003cbr\u003e–Stephen King\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Howard honestly believed the basic truth of the stories he was telling. It’s as if he’d said, ‘This is how life was really lived in those former savage times!’ ”\u003cbr\u003e–David Drake\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“For stark, living fear . . . what other writer is even in the running with Robert E. Howard?”\u003cbr\u003e–H. P. Lovecraft\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.The Servants of Bit-Yakin\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    I  Paths of Intrigue\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e    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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow 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.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e  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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere he halted, panting, and stared downward.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eConan 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eKeshan 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThutmekri 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHis 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhile 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRiding 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNo 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. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSwinging 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith 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.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNevertheless 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAhead 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs 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.  \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSomewhere 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.From the master of heroic fantasy-five classic adventures, including the legendary \"Beyond the Black River\" and \"Red Nails'; Fully illustrated by Gregory","brand":"Random House Worlds","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303536283877,"sku":"NP9780345461537","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345461537.jpg?v=1767738821","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-conquering-sword-of-conan-isbn-9780345461537","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}