Delphi Works of Robert E. Howard (Illustrated) (Series Four)

by Robert E. Howard

  “Whar is he, you mangy coyotes?” roared pap, brandishing his rifle. “What you done with him? I war a fool and a dog, desertin’ my own flesh and blood to you polecats! I don’t care if he’s a thief or a liar, or what! A Bear Creek man ain’t made to rot in a blasted town-folks jail! I come after him and I aim to take him back, alive or dead! And if you’ve kilt him, I aim to burn Chawed Ear to the ground and kill every able-bodied man in her! Whar is he, damn yore souls?”

  “I swear we don’t know!” panted the sheriff, pale and shaking. “When I heard the mob was formin’ I come as quick as I could, and got here by the time they did, but all we found was the jail winder tore out like you see, and three men layin’ senseless here and another’n out there in the thicket. They was the guards, but they ain’t come to yet to tell us what happened. We was jest startin’ to look for Elkins when you come, and—”

  “Don’t look no farther!” I roared, riding into the torch-light. “Here I be!”

  “Breckinridge!” says pap. “Whar you been? Who’s that with you?”

  “Some gents which has got a few words to say to the assemblage,” I says, drawing my string of captives into the light of the torches. Everybody gaped at ‘em, and I says: “I interjuices you to Mister Jugbelly Judkins. He’s the slickest word-slingin’ sharp I ever seen, so I reckon it oughta be him which does the spielin’. He ain’t got on his plug-hat jest now, but he ain’t gagged. Speak yore piece, Jugbelly.”

  “Honest confession is good for the soul,” says he. “Lemme have the attention of the crowd, whilst I talks myself right into the penitentiary.” You could of heard a pin drop when he commenced.

  “Donovan had brooded a long time about failin’ to take Cap’n Kidd away from Elkins,” says he. “He laid his plans careful and long to git even with Elkins without no risk to hisself. This was a job which taken plenty of caution and preparation. He got a gang of versatile performers together — the cream of the illegal crop, if I do say so myself.

  “Most of us kept hid in that cabin back up in the hills, from which Elkins recently routed us. From there he worked out over the whole country — Donovan, I mean. One mornin’ he run into Elkins at the Mustang Creek tavern. He overheard Elkins say he was broke, also that he was goin’ back to Bear Creek and was aimin’ to return to War Paint late that evenin’. All this, and Elkins’ singed sculp, give him a idee how to work what he’d been plannin’.

  “He sent me to meet Elkins and git him drunk and keep him out in the hills all night. Then I was to disappear, so Elkins couldn’t prove no alibi. Whilst we was drinkin’ up there, Donovan went and robbed the stage. He had his head shaved so’s to make him look like Elkins, of course, and he shot old Jim Harrigan jest to inflame the citizens.

  “Hurley and Jackson and Slade was his men. The gold Jackson had on him really belonged to Donovan. Donovan, as soon as he’d robbed the stage, he give the gold to Jalatin who lit out for the place where me and Elkins was boozin’. Then Donovan beat it for the cabin and hid the bay mare and put on his wig to hide his shaved head, and got on another hoss, and started sa’ntering along the Cougar Paw-Grizzly Run road — knowin’ a posse would soon be headin’ for Bear Creek.

  “Which it was, as soon as the stage got in. Hurley and Jackson and Slade swore they’d knowed Elkins in Yavapai, and rekernized him as the man which robbed the stage. Ashley and Harrigan warn’t ready to say for sure, but thought the robber looked like him. But you Chawed Ear gents know about that — as soon as you heard about the robbery you started buildin’ yore special jail, and sent a posse to Bear Creek, along with Ashley and them three fakes that claimed to of rekernized Elkins. On the way you met Donovan, jest like he planned, and he jined you.

  “But meanwhile, all the time, me and Elkins was engaged in alcoholic combat, till he passed out, long after midnight. Then I taken the jugs and hid ‘em, and pulled out for the cabin to hide till I could sneak outa the country. Jalatin got there jest as I was leavin’, and he waited till Elkins sobered up the next momin’, and told him a sob story about havin’ a wife in poverty, and give him the gold to give to her, and made him promise not to tell nobody where he got it. Donovan knowed the big grizzly wouldn’t bust his word, if it was to save his neck even.

  “Well, as you all know, the posse didn’t find Elkins on Bear Creek. So they started out lookin’ for him, with his pap and some of his uncles, and met him jest comin’ out into the trail from the place where me and him had our famous boozin’ bout. Imejitly Slade, Hurley and Jackson begun yellin’ he was the man, and they was backed by Ashley which is a honest man but really thought Elkins was the robber, when he seen that nude skull. Donovan planned to git Elkins shot while attemptin’ to escape. And the rest is now history — war- history, I might say.”

  “Well spoke, Jugbelly,” I says, dumping Donovan off my hoss at the sheriff’s feet. “That’s the story, and you-all air stuck with it. My part of the game’s done did, and I washes my hands of it.”

  “We done you a big injestice, Elkins,” says the sheriff. “But how was we to know—”

  “Forget it,” I says, and then pap rode up. Us Bear Creek folks don’t talk much, but we says plenty in a few words.

  “I was wrong, Breckinridge,” he says gruffly, and that said more’n most folks could mean in a long-winded speech. “For the first time in my life,” he says, “I admits I made a mistake. But,” says he, “the only fly in the ‘intment is the fack that a Elkins was drunk off’n his feet by a specimen like that!” And he p’inted a accusing finger at Jugbelly Judkins.

  “I alone have come through the adventure with credit,” admitted Jugbelly modestly. “A triumph of mind over muscle, my law-shootin’ friends!”

  “Mind, hell!” says Jalatin viciously. “That coyote didn’t drink none of that licker! He was a sleight-of-hand performer in a vaudeville show when Donovan picked him up. He had a rubber stummick inside his shirt and he poured the licker into that. He couldn’t outdrink Breckinridge Elkins if he was a whole corporation, the derned thief!”

  “I admits the charge,” sighed Jugbelly. “I bows my head in shame.”

  “Well,” I says, “I’ve saw worse men than you, at that, and if they’s anything I can do, you’ll git off light, you derned wind-bag, you!”

  “Thank you, my generous friend,” says he, and pap reined his hoss around and said: “You comin’ home, Breckinridge?”

  “Go ahead,” I said. “I’ll come on with Glory.”

  So pap and the men of Bear Creek turnt and headed up the trail, riding single file, with their rifles gleaming in the flare of the torches, and nobody saying nothing, jest saddles creaking and hoofs clinking softly, like Bear Creek men generally ride.

  And as they went the citizens of Chawed Ear hove a loud sigh of relief, and grabbed Donovan and his gang with enthusiasm and lugged ’em off to the jail — the one I hadn’t busted, I mean.

  “And that,” said Glory, throwing her club away, “is that. You ain’t goin’ off to foreign parts now, be you, Breckinridge?”

  “Naw,” I said. “My misguided relatives has redeemed theirselves.”

  We stood there a minute looking at each other, and she said: “You — you ain’t got nothin’ to say to me, Breckinridge?”

  “Why, sure I has,” I responded. “I’m mighty much obliged for what you done.”

  “Is that all?” she ast, gritting her teeth slightly.

  “What else you want me to say?” I ast, puzzled. “Ain’t I jest thanked you? They was a time when I would of said more, and likely made you mad, Glory, but knowin’ how you feel towards me, I—”

  “ — !” says Glory, and before I knowed what she was up to, she grabbed up a rock the size of a watermelon and busted it over my head. I was so tooken by surprise I stumbled backwards and fell sprawling and as I looked up at her, a great light bust onto me.

  “She loves me!” I exclaimed.

  “I been wonderin’ how long it was goin’ to take you to find out!” says she.

&nb
sp; “But what made you treat me like you done?” I demanded presently. “I thought you plumb hated me!”

  “You ought to of knowed better,” says she, snuggling in my arms. “You made me mad that time you licked pap and them fool brothers of mine. I didn’t mean most of them things I said. But you got mad and said some things which made me madder, and after that I was too proud to act any way but like I done. I never loved nobody but you, but I wouldn’t admit it as long as you was at the top of the ladder, struttin’ around with money in yore pocket, and goin’ with purty gals, and everybody eager to be friends with you. I was lovin’ you then so’s it nearly busted me, but I wouldn’t let on. I wouldn’t humble myself to no blamed man! But you seen how quick I come to you when you needed a friend, you big lunkhead!”

  “Then I’m glad all this happened,” I says. “It made me see things straight. I never loved no other gal but you. I was jest tryin’ to forgit you and make you jealous when I was goin’ with them other gals. I thought I’d lost you, and was jest tryin’ to git the next best. I know that now, and I admits it. I never seen a gal which could come within a hundred miles of you in looks and nerve and everything.”

  “I’m glad you’ve come to yore senses, Breckinridge,” says she.

  I swung up on Cap’n Kidd and lifted her up before me, and the sky was jest getting pink and the birds was beginning to cut loose as we started up the road towards Bear Creek.

  THE END

  Fantasy Stories

  Brownwood High School, where Howard was educated

  CONAN THE BARBARIAN

  Conan the Barbarian was created by Howard in a series of fantasy stories published in Weird Tales magazine in 1932. The character first appeared, however, in the short story ‘People of the Dark’ in Strange Tales of Mystery and Terror (June 1932), in which the protagonist describes one of his previous incarnations: Conan, a black-haired barbarian hero, who swears by a deity called Crom.

  Seeing potential in this new creation, Howard rewrote the rejected story ‘By This Axe I Rule!’ (May 1929), replacing his existing character Kull of Atlantis with his new hero, and retitling it ‘The Phoenix on the Sword’. In December 1932, ‘The Phoenix on the Sword’ appeared in Weird Tales and its editor, Farnsworth Wright, asked Howard to write an 8,000 word essay for personal use detailing ‘the Hyborian Age,’ the fictional setting for Conan. This bore fruit in the fully-fledged fantasy world of Howard’s next Conan story, ‘The Tower of the Elephant’, whose success encouraged Howard to write many more Conan stories for Weird Tales. By the time of Howard’s suicide in 1936, he had written 21 complete stories, 17 of which had been published, as well as a number of unfinished fragments.

  The various stories of Conan the Barbarian occur in the fictional ‘Hyborian Age’, set after the destruction of Atlantis and before the rise of the known ancient civilizations. Through the creation of this timeless setting— ‘a vanished age’ — and the careful of choosing names that resembled human history, but with subtle differences, Howard avoided the problem of historical anachronisms and the need for lengthy exposition.

  Conan himself is a Cimmerian, a race modelled on the ancient Britons (the Celts or Gaels). Born on a battlefield, the son of a village blacksmith, we learn that Conan matured quickly as a youth and, by the age of fifteen, was already a respected warrior. After the demise of Venarium (which he helped bring about), he was struck by wanderlust and began the adventures chronicled by Howard, encountering skulking monsters, evil wizards, tavern wenches and beautiful princesses. He roams throughout the Hyborian Age nations as a thief, outlaw, mercenary and pirate. As he grows older, we find him commanding larger units of men and escalating his ambitions. In his forties, he seizes the crown of the tyrannical king of Aquilonia, the most powerful kingdom of the Hyborian Age, having strangled the previous ruler on the steps of the throne. Conan’s adventures often result in him performing heroic feats, though his motivation for doing so is largely to protect his own survival or for personal gain.

  In spite of his brutish appearance, Conan uses his brains as well as his brawn. He is a talented fighter, though his travels have given him vast experience other skills, especially as a thief; he is also a talented commander, tactician and strategist, as well as a born leader. In addition, Conan speaks many languages, and has advanced reading and writing abilities. In certain stories, he is able to recognise, or even decipher, certain ancient or secret signs and writings. Another noticeable trait is his sense of humour, largely absent in later comic-book and movie adaptations, but very much a part of Howard’s original vision of the character. Conan is a loyal friend to those true to him, with a barbaric code of conduct that often marks him as more honourable than the more sophisticated people he meets in his travels. Indeed, his straightforward nature and barbarism are constant in all the tales.

  Howard corresponded frequently with H. P. Lovecraft and they both inserted references to each other’s tales and their fictional ‘universes’ into their respective works. As a result, many of Howard’s Conan stories could arguably be seen as part of Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos. Many of the Conan stories also used geographical place names from Clark Ashton Smith’s Hyperborean Cycle.

  These interconnections place Howard as one of the founders of what has become known as the ‘sword and sorcery’ genre. The term was first coined in 1961, when the author Fritz Leiber, in response to British writer Michael Moorcock’s suggestion that the kind of epic fantasies, written by Howard and so frequently imitated, should be given a name. Leiber coined the phrase to sum up the main elements of the tales – heroic feats of courage and action (sword) combined with supernatural, mythic and fantastic settings or plot elements (sorcery). Critics differ over the finer points of genre definition, but a broad consensus characterises it by a strong bias toward fast-paced, action-rich tales set within a quasi-mythical or fantastical framework. Unlike high or epic fantasy, the stakes tend to be personal, with the danger confined to the moment of telling.

  Sword and sorcery is a sub-genre of fantasy, but has old roots. Ultimately — like much fantasy — it draws from mythology and classical epics such as Homer’s Odyssey and the Norse sagas. The genre is also influenced by historical fiction, begun by Sir Walter Scott, under the influence of Romantic collections of folklore and ballads. Its immediate progenitors, however, are the swashbuckling tales of Alexandre Dumas, père (The Three Musketeers (1844), etc.), Rafael Sabatini (Scaramouche (1921), etc.) and their pulp magazine imitators, such as Talbot Mundy, Harold Lamb, and H. Bedford-Jones, who all influenced Howard. Another influence was early fantasy fiction such as Lord Dunsany’s ‘The Fortress Unvanquishable, Save for Sacnoth’ (1910) and A. Merritt’s The Ship of Ishtar (1924). All of these authors influenced sword and sorcery for the plots, characters and landscapes used.

  In the Weird Tales serials of the 1930s, Howard was one of the most significant writers to blend all of these threads together to form a new breed of fiction – an influence profoundly felt by modern practitioners of the ‘sword and sorcery’ genre.

  Weird Tales, May 1934, featuring one of the original Conan stories

  H. P. Lovecraft (1890–1937) was a close friend and active source of inspiration in Howard’s growth as a writer. Virtually unknown and only published in pulp magazines before he died in poverty, Lovecraft is now regarded as one of the most significant 20th-century authors in his genre.

  CONTENTS

  Please note: the novels THE PEOPLE OF THE BLACK CIRCLE and THE HOUR OF THE DRAGON appear separately in the Novels section of the eBook.

  THE PHOENIX ON THE SWORD

  THE SCARLET CITADEL

  THE TOWER OF THE ELEPHANT

  BLACK COLOSSUS

  XUTHAL OF THE DUSK; OR, THE SLITHERING SHADOW

  THE POOL OF THE BLACK ONE

  ROGUES IN THE HOUSE

  GODS OF THE NORTH; OR, THE FROST GIANT’S DAUGHTER

  IRON SHADOWS IN THE MOON; OR, SHADOWS IN THE MOONLIGHT

  QUEEN OF THE BLACK COAST


  THE DEVIL IN IRON

  A WITCH SHALL BE BORN

  JEWELS OF GWAHLUR

  BEYOND THE BLACK RIVER

  MAN-EATERS OF ZAMBOULA; OR, SHADOWS IN ZAMBOULA

  RED NAILS

  An illustration of The Hyborian Age, based upon a hand-drawn map by Robert E. Howard, 1932

  Map of the fictional continent of Hyboria, in which the Conan tales are set

  Film poster for the 1982 film, Conan the Barbarian, featuring Arnold Schwarzenegger as the eponymous hero

  THE PHOENIX ON THE SWORD

  First published in Weird Tales, December 1932

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 1

  “KNOW, oh prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars — Nemedia, Ophir, Brythunia, Hyperborea, Zamora with its dark-haired women and towers of spider-haunted mystery, Zingara with its chivalry, Koth that bordered on the pastoral lands of Shem, Stygia with its shadow-guarded tombs, Hyrkania whose riders wore steel and silk and gold. But the proudest kingdom of the world was Aquilonia, reigning supreme in the dreaming west. Hither came Conan, the Cimmerian, black-haired, sullen- eyed,sword in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the Earth under his sandalled feet.” — The Nemedian Chronicles