Conan infiltrates the Mountain of Power

Conan's infiltration of the Mountain of Power is the culmination of his long and brutal journey from a slave chained to the Wheel of Pain to a free man seeking vengeance against the cult that destroyed his village. The raid on his Cimmerian village, where his father Corin was killed, set him on this path, and his subsequent enslavement and training as a pit fighter forged him into a weapon. Now, disguised as a pilgrim, he walks the winding road up the mountain, joining a straggling line of haggard youths and maidens whose vacant eyes mark them as victims of the cult's influence. The vast difference between the robust barbarian in his fresh garment and the weary, travel-stained band makes him fear discovery, but he presses on, driven by his vow of blood and vengeance.

The Pilgrim's Disguise

The road to the Mountain of Power is a gauntlet of ritual and surveillance. At the first bend, Conan sees a small temple of white marble, the least of the Shrines of Doom, gleaming against the brooding obsidian of the mountain. Its outer walls bear a frieze of writhing, obscene, and serpentine shapes, and beneath its swelling cupola all seekers must pass for cleansing and renewal. A woman stops him to hand him a fresh garland, for the chaplet he had woven hours before is already wilted. Bowing his head to receive the wreath, he prepares to move on, but the girl with upraised hand detains him, and panic seizes him until he realizes this is a ritual greeting. Copying the reply of the pilgrim who preceded him, he intones, "I wish to be cleansed." The girl smiles vaguely, and Conan becomes aware that she does not really see him; she is drugged. She hastens through the prescribed words, devoid of warmth and meaning: "You are safe now from the perils of the road. We are all safe here in the shadow of the mountain. Fear no more; for this is the road to paradise!"

The Amphitheatre and the Priest

Passing through a narrow cleft between two slabs of rock, Conan finds himself in a natural amphitheatre, a bowl-shaped area shielded from the wind. Tents and rude pavilions litter the rocky ground, and on either side stand burly guards, proud and imposing in their armour of lacquered black leather. Beyond them, he sees, or thinks he sees, black-robed priests from the Temple of the Serpent. Instinctively, the Cimmerian draws back, then hastily assumes a vacant-eyed, slack-jawed expression. A priestess, attracted by his failure to move forward, hurries over and asks if something is wrong. Conan gestures toward the faceless guards and asks who they are. "They are our friends," she answers soothingly, as to a frightened child. "They are here to protect us." She explains that they protect the faithful from themselves, for "seldom do we know what is good for us; always are we beset with doubts and fears." Only the Master can set their feet upon the path to paradise. Gently taking his hand, she draws him to the rear of the procession and leaves him there.

Swept along with the rest, Conan finds himself in a crowd of boys and youths being herded into a long line by several priests and ordered to strip off their travel-stained garments. The wily barbarian stands for a moment, undecided, among the bewildered throng. If he doffs his robe, the long dirk at his belt would instantly expose his imposture. As the line moves forward, he slips between two tents and runs into a slender, robed and hooded priest. "Whither go you, brother?" asks the man mildly. Conan stammers that he fears to bare himself. The priest reaches out to touch him, but Conan fends off his hand. Undeterred, the priest continues, "How can you expect to reach the ultimate emptiness, my son, unless you have full knowledge of your body?" Conan spies a cleft in the rocks well-shielded from public view and asks, "Can we not talk alone... where the others cannot see?" With a thin and knowing smile, the robed man bends his footsteps thither, saying, "We priests know much about the bodies and souls of men; you need feel no shame...." Once within the alcove, Conan turns and asks with feigned innocence, "Tell me, is the robe your only garment?" "Aye, my son. It is all..." the priest replies. "Good," grunts the barbarian, and drives an elbow into the priest's ribs. As the bones crack, only a strangled wheeze issues forth. Then a Pit fighter's hammer blow breaks the man's neck.

The Sigil of Doom

Now wearing the dead priest's robe, Conan moves briskly through the line of naked pilgrims and heads for the temple. A priest, descending from the sanctuary, meets his eyes and makes a cryptic sign with his fingers. Conan clumsily mimics the wordless greeting and, noting the look of puzzlement on the other's face, quickly moves on. A pair of priests go by, deep in a fiery argument. Conan sees that on each breast hangs a medallion like that which he had taken from the altar in the Serpent's Tower. Tumbling inside his unfamiliar robe, he brings forth his sigil and, despite its clumsy thong, places it in view. The temple guards, rough, half-witted fellows with beetling brows, look sharply at the false priest; then, seeing the medallion with its twin serpents, they draw themselves to attention and let him pass. Thus Conan enters into the Mountain of Power.

Witness to the Master

Inside the mountain, Conan witnesses the full extent of Thulsa Doom's power. In the great temple, the Faithful of Set are gathered to hear the exhortation of their master. Hundreds of candles, nursed by loving hands, throw a dim radiance over the chamber and reflect the eager faces of the congregation. The commingling of young voices, flutes, and brasses makes solemn music that reverberates through the cavernous hall. All becomes silent as Thulsa Doom, resplendent in his reptilian armour, mounts the dais and faces his followers. His eyes are dark and filled with sorcery, but there is no humanity in them. He fixes his gaze beyond the uplifted faces massed before him, as if he saw some vision of the future that he alone could see, and intones: "The day of doom is here. The purging is at last at hand. All who stand against us in high places, all who have lied to you and tried to turn you from me—parents, teachers, judges—all shall depart in a night of blood and fire. Then shall the earth be cleansed and ready to receive the god we worship." "Set!" moan the listeners in ecstasy. The soft, smooth voice of Doom continues: "You, my children, are the pure water that will cleanse the world. You shall destroy all who stand against us. In your hands you hold the eternal light that burns in the eyes of Set!"

Doom's catechism is a litany of death and devotion. He asks who amongst them fears the warm embrace of death, and whether they will take life for him, whether it be the heart of friend, or lover, or loved one in their former life. "Doom!" they moan, swaying in rhythm to the beat of his utterances. "Doom! Doom!" He asks if they will slip the silken noose over the heads of Set's enemies, and whether they will clutch the hilts of their daggers and spill the heart's blood of the infidels, to give them the infinite benison of eternal peace. His magnetic eyes dart from face to face and hold each follower in thrall. He promises them that they will feel naught but joy when they perform their duty to their god and lord, and that they will grow in love of the Dark Master, the Wise Serpent, in the embrace of whose coils lies eternal life and bliss unutterable; for the day of Doom is at hand, the day of the Great Cleansing.

The Demonstration of Power

Conan's infiltration also places him as a witness to Doom's cruel philosophy in action. In the garden, Doom commands a young girl, a child, to come to him. Her childish face becomes suffused with joy. She poises for a moment at the edge of the embankment; then, without a glance at the youth beside her, she leaps from the wall and falls with a heavy thud on the tiles of the garden walk below. Conan averts his eyes from the doll-like broken body near their feet. Doom laughs, the music of his laughter spun through with a note of triumph. Then he says: "That is strength, boy—that is power! It is strength against which the hardness of steel or the resilience of human flesh are as naught. What is steel, compared to the hand that wields it; what is the hand, without a mind to command it? There is the secret of strength. Steel, bah!" Thulsa Doom pauses and stares at Conan's impassive face. The barbarian's closed countenance, the set of his bruised shoulders seem to the cult leader to diminish his power, to offer an unspoken insult to one unused to insults. He makes one more attempt to reassert his authority and to impress the stubborn youth, whose body is in chains but whose soul remains free. Doom raises a hand and catches the attention of the weeping lad who stands immobile, looking down at the broken body of the girl he loved. Doom's cruel lips curl, a movement noticed only by the keen-eyed Cimmerian, and a false smile lights his dark visage, as he whispers a command.

The Path to the Final Confrontation

The infiltration of the Mountain of Power is not an end in itself but the necessary prelude to the final confrontation. It places Conan in the heart of the enemy's domain, where he learns the nature of the power he must destroy. The cult's rituals, its hypnotic control, and its brutal philosophy are all laid bare before him. The stolen medallion, the sigil of Doom, grants him passage, but it is his own steel and his own will that will carry him through the coming battle. The infiltration is the crossing of the threshold into the realm of the enemy, and it sets the stage for the moment when Conan's sword will sigh as it sweeps up in a great arc and cleaves the swaying snake head from the human body, ending the reign of Thulsa Doom. The journey that began with the raid on his village and the death of his father will culminate here, in the heart of the Mountain of Power, where the riddle of steel is finally answered not by the blade itself, but by the steel within the man.