Conan The Rebel
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A grand adventure of the mighty thewed barbarian, from one of Fantasy's biggest names
Conan, The name has inspired generations, one that resounds through time immemorial. Yet it all began with a handful of stories from Robert E. Howard. In the decades since, there have been feature films, television and comic book series, and numerous spin-off novels. In 1979, Poul Anderson—winner of a staggering eight Hugo and three Nebula Awards—wrote what is regarded as one of the finest adventures in the canon of Conan:
Conan the Rebel.
Conan the barbarian and Belit, his raven-haired beauty, lead a band of savage pirates striving to free Belit's people from the iron grip of an evil reptile god and its cruel minions. Striking at the heart of tyranny, Conan must break the chains of oppression before eternal darkness claims them all.
smoke of their campfires drifted on a warm breeze, into a sky where hawks caught sunlight on wings. Upon seeing their leader and his companion, they hurried to stand below the staircase, rank after rank of lithe brown bodies. Parasan lifted a hand. Somehow his thin voice carried: “You who fight for Taia the beloved, hearken. Hear, though you have heard before, the story of your motherland. “Mighty were your forebears. They came down from afar, from the cold North, Hyboria of the legends, first
gained the higher deck. Bêlit hurried over red-running planks, writhing wounded, contorted dead, to Conan. Arrows from the poop whistled after her. He drew her close to him and held up his shield for whatever safety it afforded. “They can stand us off, where they are, for a long while,” she said. “There is ample shipping in these waters, and pirates are the enemy of every seafaring nation. They can hope another vessel will chance by in time to help them. Then I fear we must make off.” “We can
she raised the vessel and said — almost sang, “To your happiness, Conan. May I aid you in regaining it.” “Thank you,” he same lamely. “Will you drink to me in turn — no, to us?” He sipped without uttering any toast and plunged ahead: “You must know I am completely in the dark about everything. Why am I here? Why are you? What is going on?” “You must have learned a little from your fellow captives today,” she said. “It was I who prevailed on Tothapis to give you those hours.” Indeed he had
get fresh clothes of a different sort — but where? How? And where can we find refuge in a town we know not, when criers will be telling everybody about us, and doubtless about a reward for information?” Daris squeezed Conan’s arm. “Think,” she urged. “Let us hark back to everything Falco has told us — no, wait, let me try remembering. I have never been here before, but it is, after all, the royal seat of Stygia, and I was taught about it in my girlhood.” She snapped her fingers. “Aye! On the
been to talk about?” “Why, everything,” she answered softly. “Hopes, dreams, memories — even fears, if naming those would help give power over them. You were a cheerful soul before, Falco. What gnaws at you of late? That tomorrow we reach dread Pteion?” “I am not afraid!” he flared. “I didn’t have to come along.” “Nor did I. But then, Conan is my lord for … as long as he and Mitra will have it so. You, though, would be no coward, would rather be of service equal to this, if you had accompanied