Ancient Sword

The Ancient Sword is the great iron blade that Conan claims from the grasp of a long-dead skeletal warrior in a forgotten tomb, a weapon whose perfect balance and still-sharp edge mark it as the instrument of his rise from chained slave to conqueror of the Mountain of Power. It is the physical counterpart to the Atlantean steel of his father's masterpiece, and it carries him through the Pit, the Tower of the Black Serpent, and the Mountain of Power, until it becomes the very blade that beheads Thulsa Doom and fulfills the Cimmerian's vow of vengeance. More than a tool of war, the sword is the emblem of Conan's philosophy: that a blade of well-forged steel is the only thing a man can count on, and that what matters is not the steel within the blade, but the steel within the man.

Discovery in the Tomb

Conan found the sword in a death chamber deep beneath the earth, a place lit only by a rude torch he fashioned from a femur wrapped in rotting cloth. The walls were embellished with polished stone reliefs of bizarre figures, and the floor was cluttered with the clean, dry bones of at least a score of human beings. At the center of the chamber sat a huge throne carved from opalescent marble or alabaster, and upon it rested an enormous skeletal warrior, still clad in copper armour turned green by corrosion. The skull's face seemed frozen in a silent scream beneath its heavy helm, and across its spread knees lay the great sword, sheathed in leather so rotted that patches of iron beneath the hide were visible. The hilt and pommel of corroded bronze crawled with cryptic characters wrought by a master's hand.

When Conan took up the sword, the scabbard crumbled into dust at his touch, and thin fragments of bronze fell to the floor with the ghost of a tinkle. The blade proved to be a huge length of dull iron, spotted with patches of corrosion, but rust had not bitten deeply enough to affect its strength, and the edge, when he thumbed it, was still sharp. As he caressed the perfect planes of the blade and the exquisite workmanship of the hilt, his eyes clouded with painful memories of the making of the great steel sword that was his father's masterpiece. He hefted the ancient weapon and found the balance so perfect that it seemed made for his arm alone. Raising it above his head, he felt his thews swell with power and his heart beat faster with the pride of possession, and he uttered the venerable war cry of the Cimmerians, never pausing to think that such a challenge might rouse thoughts that had slumbered there for countless centuries.

The First Trials

The sword proved its worth immediately, as the dead man lived and moved, rising to answer Conan's challenge. The walking skeleton advanced with a sigh like sedge blown by an autumn wind, but Conan's blade brought it down, collapsing it into a heap of bones and dust, the helmet ringing like a cracked bell when it struck the stone flooring. Emerging into the moonlight, Conan found the wolves still waiting for him. With a tight smile, he took his stance on the ledge and raised the long blade over his head. As the first beast hurled itself toward him, he pivoted, sweeping the sword in a horizontal arc, catching the wolf in mid-leap and tossing it high in the air to fall yelping to its death on the boulders. A second wolf sprang at him with jaws agape, and he drove the point of the blade between the open jaws, seating it deep in the animal's gullet. A third wolf dove at his legs, but Conan, having freed his sword, dealt the attacker a blow that laid open its skull.

The Sword in the Cult's Domain

The sword accompanied Conan into the heart of the Cult of Set's power. In the Tower of the Black Serpent, as the ceremony neared its climax, Conan caught the sword that Subotai tossed to him, hilt first, and wheeled just as the great serpent pulled loose from its insecure restraint. With two mighty hands upon the pommel, he brought the blade down across the serpent's neck, severing the head. The headless body thrashed like a giant whip, knocking Conan to the ground, but the creature's life-blood ebbed and the reptilian thrashings ceased. The sword was also the instrument of the girl's rescue, for Conan cast it aside to catch the falling maiden as she plunged into the corpse-filled pit, recovering the bloodstained blade before vanishing into the darkness with Subotai.

When Conan prepared to infiltrate the Mountain of Power disguised as a pilgrim, the ancient wizard warned him that he could not wear the sword, for even beneath his robe, Doom's people would instantly perceive its presence. Conan reached under his robe, unbuckled the baldric, and handed the scabbarded blade to the wizard, saying: "Keep it oiled, and find forage for my horse. I'll reward you well when I return... if I return." The wizard, muttering protective cantrips, watched him go, and Conan strode away toward the mountain, adjusting his wreath of drooping field flowers.

The Beheading of Thulsa Doom

The sword's ultimate purpose was fulfilled in the great temple, where the Faithful of Set were gathered to hear the exhortation of their master. Before the frozen faces of the faithful, Thulsa Doom's neck lengthened, his jaws elongated, his nose shrank and disappeared, and his dark eyes rounded into lidless orbs as he bore the scaly serpent head of the ancient snake-men. Conan's sword sighed as it swept up in a great arc and clove the swaying snake head from the human body. The body fell backward and lay writhing like a trampled serpent at the top of the wide steps, while the severed head rolled slowly down the long flight of stairs and came to rest beside the fountain pool. Watching the gory object fall into the purple shadows of the dying day, Conan spoke half to himself: "My father was the light of day; Thulsa Doom, my night. Yet in one thing he spoke true. What matters is not the steel within the blade, but the steel within the man."

The Riddle of Steel

The Ancient Sword embodies the central philosophical riddle of Conan's life. His father Corin the smith had come out of the south lands bearing the secret of steel, that precious inheritance from the ancient Atlanteans, and had forged a mighty sword blade, tempering the glowing brand in a vat of water as the core hissed like a serpent. Thulsa Doom, in his garden demonstration, mocked the very notion of steel, proclaiming: "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!" Yet Conan's final words over Doom's severed head reconcile the two views: the steel within the blade matters less than the steel within the man. The Ancient Sword, taken from a forgotten tomb and wielded by a barbarian slave, becomes the proof of this doctrine, for it is not the weapon's origin but the hand that wields it that determines its destiny. The sword that began as a relic of a long-forgotten race ends as the instrument of the mightiest lord of his day, the same Conan who would one day rule from the throne of Aquilonia as Conan the Great.