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Conan in Jail

Summary

Conan the Barbarian lives again, in this story- heretofore undiscovered- in his legendary career. Locked in a Stygian jail, Conan fortunately meets up with a thief like himself... And here I was, in a dank prison with Kushites, Shemites, and others from many far-flung inferior lands, when the Cimmerian was brought into the prison. Loaded with chains he was, heavy links that not even his mighty thews might break. So heavy were the chains about his swelling limbs that he was bodily carried into the jail, and thrown into it by four burly soldiers. And they looked overly taxed at the carrying of that load of chains and Cimmerian… Dropping him with a loud clank in my cell with all the other prisoners, they left with imprecations, and the jailer slammed the door behind them as they left. The Cimmerian, Conan, for such I learned later was his name, was out cold, and his skin bled from numerous flesh wounds, all on the front side of his body. This last spoke volumes about Conan’s valor and reluctance to turn from battle, more of which I would learn later.

Status
Complete
Chapters
5
Rating
n/a
Age Rating
13+

Conan in Jail

A Stygian jail

I had been in this pit for too long- 2 months to be exact, 2 months and some odd days rotting in a Stygian cell. I-Orestes of Zamora- a burglar master thief- thrown in jail with low bred curs, common street thieves and cut-purses. The shame was worse for me, almost, than the actual imprisonment and bad food: I was a prince of thieves from a land that raised thievery to an art! And here I was, in a dank prison with Kushites, Shemites, and others from many far-flung inferior lands, when the Cimmerian was brought into the prison.

Loaded with chains he was, heavy links that not even his mighty thews might break. So heavy were the chains about his swelling limbs that he was bodily carried into the jail, and thrown into it by four burly soldiers. And they looked overly taxed at the carrying of that load of chains and Cimmerian…

Dropping him with a loud clank in my cell with all the other prisoners, they left with imprecations, and the jailer slammed the door behind them as they left. The Cimmerian, Conan, for such I learned later was his name, was out cold, and his skin bled from numerous flesh wounds, all on the front side of his body. This last spoke volumes about Conan’s valor and reluctance to turn from battle, more of which I would learn later.

I later learned that this Conan was a corsair, a buccaneer raiding along the coast with a crew of Black corsairs, robbing the Stygians. The captain of the ship, at that- he had been the lone survivor of a Stygian attack. Multiple galleys had been mustered against the pirates, and the blue and black sailed ships of the Stygians had launched in desperation against the constant raidings of Conan, who was known to the blacks as Amra, which meant “the lion” in the language of the blacks.

Rumors of dark arts were implicated in his capture, including a giant glass of some sort that concentrated the sun’s rays into beams of burning light, burning both pirate’s flesh and the boat itself!

Finally, the maimed ship had been boarded, and in the man to man fighting that remained, only Conan survived, on a deck he left littered with Stygian corpses.

But all this is in hindsight: now, in these past few hours, Conan had come to, and was glaring about with his blazing blue eyes, his wild black mane tangled about his shoulders. And then, in through the prison door came an imposing figure, and that of one we had never expected to see here in our lowly cell.

There was a rattle of arms, the noise of voices, and suddenly who should arrive at our pitiful prison door but Thothmes, the regent king of Stygia himself! He strode into the prison with a small group of armed soldiers, and directly to the cell which I shared, along with several others, with this Conan of Cimmeria.

By the way, Cimmeria, I later learned, is a land far to the north and to the west of my own warm and sun-kissed land of Zamora- a land of misty, wintry mountains, chill and bleak. Their only god is Crom, who breathes the will to strive and slay into his followers upon their birth, and gives them nothing after that. What a cheerless land!

“And so- THIS is the pirate captain, Conan,” expostulated Thothmes in wrath. “He shall die as no man has died in ages- this defiler of Stygian supremacy of the seas! I plotted for months to rid us of his scurvy horde, and now ’tis done at last!!”

Thothmes was an imposing figure, tall and handsome, with a headpiece that was a Stygian crown of brass and gold, and a long purple robe. His face was twisted with wrath, and he looked at Conan with regal anger. Conan regarded him from under black brows, back braced upon the wall as he sat loaded with chains.

“Come in this cage, dog of Stygia, and loaded with chains as I am, I will show you who dies!” And he spat meaningfully in Thothmes direction, raising the chains in his arms to brandish in the ruler’s face.

The king, in a paroxysm of rage, reached into his girdle, and then thrust the contents in his grasp towards the caged Cimmerian! Full in his eyes it flew, a gray powder, and the Cimmerian cried out- for, upon the touch of the powder, all vision had fled from his eyes- he was blind!

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