Tree of Woe

The Tree of Woe stands as the starkest emblem of Thulsa Doom's cruelty and the crucible of Conan's greatest suffering. It is a twisted, black monstrosity with leafless branches clawing at the sky, rising from a level plain of chalky soil as white as new-fallen snow. Once, perhaps, it had been a noble shade tree, gentle to man and beast; now it is a gaunt and spiny skeleton, a thing of evil. On this desolate waste, where waves of heat dance like sheeted ghosts and the metallic smell of unfamiliar compounds hangs in the motionless air, the tree serves as Doom's instrument of punishment and his demonstration of absolute power over life and death.

The Setting and Its Horror

The Tree of Woe stands in a landscape of utter desolation, a level plain of chalky soil stretching away in all directions, as white as new-fallen snow. Above the ground, waves of heat shimmer in the motionless air, dancing a dance of death, while the metallic smell of unfamiliar compounds reinforces the traveller's natural repugnance. The tree itself towers above this stark wasteland, a twisted, black monstrosity with leafless branches clawing at the sky. The narrative notes that once it may have been a noble shade tree, gentle to man and beast, but now it is a gaunt and spiny skeleton, a thing of evil. The only other living creatures in all the chalky waste are the vultures, drifting on lazy wings against the merciless sun, waiting for the crucified man to die and furnish them a feast.

The Crucifixion of Conan

High on the black trunk hangs Conan the Barbarian, his naked body bearing a powdering of chalk dust and dried blood, through which runnels of sweat carve their way. His tangled hair falls rope-like around his battered face, a cracked and sunburnt mask in which only the eyes live — the angry, burning eyes of a trapped and dying beast. Ropes, tightly bound, confine his arms to a pair of widespread boughs, while other ropes hold his legs and thighs firmly against the rough bark of the tree. Cruel as these thongs are, far crueller are the pair of slender nails whose square-cut heads pinion the palms of his hands to the branches against which his arms are bound. The punishment is inflicted by Doom's guards after Conan refuses to speak when commanded, and Doom pronounces the sentence with casual finality: "Crucify him." The barbarian's mind is numbed by pain, his periods of rational consciousness intermittent; thirst torments him without respite, and the relentless rays of the sun tear at his burning flesh. Nothing breaks the monotony of his agony save the shadows of vultures, drifting on lazy wings against the merciless sun.

Subotai's Rescue

Subotai, riding as only a Hyrkanian could ride, arrives at the tree and cries out in shock at what has been done to his friend. With shaking hands, he fumbles in his saddle bag and finds an implement — a tweezer of the sort used to pull stones from the hooves of horses. Tucking it into his belt, he clambers up the tree trunk to the place where the Cimmerian hangs. In frantic haste, he struggles to extract the nails from Conan's hands, hands that are swollen to twice their normal size. While the barbarian bites his lip to stifle his groans, Subotai wrenches and strains until the nails come free. Then, dropping the tweezer, the Hyrkanian saws with his dagger at the ropes that bind Conan's legs, and when those bonds are loosened, he slashes at the binding around his friend's arms. He advises Conan to hook an elbow over the branch to avoid falling to the ground.

The Meal and Aftermath

After the rescue, Conan's hands are useless, and he grumbles that if he is to sup, Subotai will have to feed him. Subotai nods and bends over his small fire, and soon pieces of broiling vulture meat impaled on a sharpened stick are merrily spattering fat into the fire, the delicious smell of cooking filling the air. After his spare but welcome meal, Conan sighs, and with his back against the Tree of Woe, he falls asleep. He awakens among the burial mounds of the dead kings, near the shores of the Sea of Vilayet, where Valeria is bending over him, bathing and salving his wounds. He stares at his hands, stiff, swollen, and inflamed; to move a finger is sheer agony. "Never to bear a sword again," he mutters. "I might as well be dead!" The tree thus marks the lowest point of his ordeal, the moment when even his own identity as a warrior seems lost.

Narrative Significance

The Tree of Woe functions as the physical embodiment of Thulsa Doom's power and the counterpoint to Conan's unyielding spirit. It is the place where Doom attempts to break the barbarian's will through physical torment, and where he delivers his chilling lesson about strength: "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?" The tree is also the site where Conan's body is broken but his soul remains free, and where his friendship with Subotai is tested and proven. The contrast between the tree's desolation and the warmth of the small fire Subotai builds, between the vultures waiting for death and the meal of vulture meat that sustains life, underscores the narrative's central tension between death and survival, cruelty and loyalty. The tree's transformation from a noble shade tree to a thing of evil mirrors the corruption that Doom spreads across the land, and Conan's survival there becomes the foundation of his eventual vengeance.