Conan of Cimmeria

[note: I'm only reading the 3 Howard stories, and giving the 5 skipped non-Howard stories an extremely generous D rating for calculating the book's average rating.]

"The Frost Giant's Daughter." F (Terrible). Conan tries to rape a goddess.

"Queen of the Black Coast." D (Bad). Conan takes up with a woman pirate captain. If you think the premise sounds promising, you haven't read many Howard stories. She immediately throws herself at Conan's feet, then ends up dying so that Howard can demonstrate how devoted she is to her perfect man. There are also some monsters in there, but they're hiding in badly-patched plot holes.

"The Vale of Lost Women." D (Bad). Racist. There is eventually a cosmic horror in it, but it doesn't get to do show more much.

Aaaand... I think I'm finally done with Conan. There are only a handful of stories left for me, but I've had enough Robert E. Howard for one lifetime.

[Average: 1.32/5]

(Mar. 2026) show less

Although de Camp and Carter's contributions are much more evident in this book than the Great Robert E. Howard's are, this loosely-connected collection of short tales still makes good entertainment.

Here the reader follows Conan when the mighty Cimmerian is in his early twenties. The usual elements that make quality Conan adventures are all here: vivid sword fights, supernatural horrors, scantily clad & naked women, exotic settings, and a barbarian warrior who'll tackle any mortal or demonic foe.

Robert howard was a pulp writer and this is drawn from his by the word writing for various publishers. L. Sprague de Camp edited this volume for the Lancer books reprints. The plot lines are simple. Conan needs money and has lost the girl he had at the end of the last one...so he struggles, usually with an enchanter who must at some point be present in material form. Conan see, Conan chops! Conan rescues girl. Reset, buy next issue.

Best Conan book I have read to date. Some really defining stories and fantastic descriptions of locations and characters

A collection of short tales of Conan's adventures in the southern jungles of Kush and other places. Conan wanders as a mercenary and encounters various supernatural enemies and beautiful women.

Good sword and sworcery stories.

Conan, the meta-physician:
from the story, "Queen of the Black Coast"
Belit, the pirate queen and Conan's lover, asks, "'Conan, do you fear the gods?'
"'I would not tread on their shadow,' answered the barbarian conservatively. 'Some god are strong to harm, others, to aid; at least so say their priests. Mitra of the Hyborians must be a strong god, because his people have builded their cities over the world. But even the Hyborians fear Set [ancient snake-god]. And Bel, god of thieves, is a good god. When I was a thief in Zamora I learned of him.'
"'What of your own gods? I have never heard you call on them.'
"'Their chief is Crom. He dwells on a great mountain. What use to call on him? Little he cares if men live or die. Better to be silent show more than to call his attention to you; he will send you dooms, not fortune! He is grim and loveless, but at birth he breathes power to strive and slay into a man's soul. What else shall men ask of the gods?'
"'But what of the worlds beyond the river of death?' she persisted.
"'There is no hope here or hereafter in the cult of my people,' answered Conan. 'In this world men struggle and suffer vainly, finding pleasure only in the bright madness of battle; dying, their souls enter a gray, misty realm of clouds and icy winds, to wander cheerlessly throughout eternity.'
"Belit shuddered. 'Life, bad as it is, is better than such a destiny. What do you believe, Conan?'
"He shrugged his shoulders. 'I have known many gods. He who denies them is as blind as he who trusts them too deeply. I seek not beyond death. It may be the blackness averred by the Nemedian skeptics, or Crom's realm of ice and cloud, or the snowy plans and vaulted hall of the Norheimer's Valhalla. I know not, nor do I care. Let me live deep while I live; let me know the rich juices of red meat and stinging wine on my palate, the hot embrace of white arms, the mad exultation of battle when the blue blades flame and crimson, and I am content. Let teachers and priests and philosophers brood over questions of reality and illusion. I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content.'" pp. 96-98

Robert E. Howard, who wrote the original Conan stories in the 1930s, committed suicide at age 30. How sad for him and for his readers, because Howard was an intuitive story-teller who channeled the great archetypes. Crom knows how many more marvelous stories he might have given us had he not chosen to check-out early.
This volume contains three of his stories, heavily edited. The rest is basically fanfic. The series, copyright 1969, is how most Boomers were introduced to Conan. show less