Conan and Uldin (trainer and trainee)

The bond between Conan and Uldin begins not with a handshake but with a chain. When Toghrul, the Hyrkanian pit master, halts before a slave pen and calls for a man named Uldin, a stocky, long-armed figure with a shaven scalp steps forward. After a brief exchange with Toghrul in words the young Cimmerian cannot follow, Uldin unwinds the chain from the pommel of Toghrul's saddle and grasps it firmly in his large, sinewy hands. Speaking Vannish with a foreign accent, he mutters, "Come along, you!" and leads Conan into an airless, stench-filled room where ragged, unwashed slaves lie on the raw dirt floor, their fire-lit eyes reflecting scant humanity. It is in this darkness, lit only by the stub of a taper, that the trainer and trainee first meet.

The First Lesson: From the Wheel to the Pit

Uldin's first question cuts to the heart of Conan's condition. "Whence come you?" he asks, and Conan answers, "I am a Cimmerian. Why am I here?" Uldin's reply is blunt: "To learn to fight. What do you know of fighting?" Conan's answer reveals the depth of his degradation: "Nothing. I was captured eight summers past, and I've been pushing that cursed mill wheel ever since. Before that, sometime, I fought with other boys." The trainer's response is immediate and practical. "Then we'll start with bare hand fighting. Take off your shirt." Conan obeys, peeling off his coarse tunic carefully lest the rotten fabric tear beyond utility. Uldin studies the youth's body critically, raising the taper to complete his task, and grunts, "The wheel gave you good shoulders. Try to throw me." Crouching, Conan moves toward the Hyrkanian, his arms reaching for a hold, but he never understands what happens next. The short man slips out of his grasp as if he had been a column of smoke, and a moment later a foot catches the Cimmerian's ankle and sends him sprawling. "Again!" commands Uldin, as the befuddled youth struggles to his feet. This first lesson establishes the pattern of their relationship: Uldin's unerring skill against Conan's raw, untutored strength, and the relentless repetition that will eventually close the gap between them.

The Forging of a Warrior: Weapons and Philosophy

As the white blanket of winter settles on Asgard and the business of Pit fighting slows to a halt, Uldin's true work begins. While most slaves are kept occupied building huts, Uldin continues to teach Conan the use of weapons other than fists, teeth, and feet. He introduces the youth to the simple staff, a six-foot length of hardwood as thick as a dog's leg, such as Conan had seen men use in his Cimmerian village. From the staff, Conan graduates to the spear, using it in both hands like a quarterstaff but giving emphasis to thrusting with the metal spearhead. For these lethal practice sessions, he and Uldin wear protective padding and wield blunt weapons. From the spear, the Cimmerian goes on to the javelin, the axe, and finally the sword. The first time Uldin places a sword in Conan's hand, the youth turns the blade over thoughtfully. It is but a lath of iron without an edge, to which is attached an iron cross-guard set into a simple wooden hilt. "Not much of a sword," growls Conan. "Not like those my father made." This remark opens a deeper exchange. "Your father was a smith, then?" asks Uldin, and Conan replies, "Aye. He knew the secret of steel. To him, steel was a gift from the gods. 'A blade of well-forged steel,' he said, 'is the only thing in the world a man can count on.'" Uldin grunts in response: "The real measure of a man lies not in the steel he carries, but in himself." When Conan asks what he means, Uldin delivers his central teaching: "In a manner of speaking, it's the man who is forged, not the blade. I know, for I am a forger of men. Come, take the first guard position! Raise your shield, so!" This philosophy directly echoes the words of Conan's own father, who had told his son on a lightning-riddled night that "the heart of a man is like a piece of unworked iron" and that only when it has been "hammered by adversity and forged by suffering" will it become as steel, worthy to wield a keen-edged sword. Uldin, unknowingly, becomes the living instrument of that paternal prophecy, hammering the boy's heart and body on the anvil of his training.

The Pit Fighter's Life: Restoration and Dulling

By spring, when Toghrul pulls up stakes and moves to another section of the country, the young Cimmerian has a working knowledge of all the elementary weapons. So skilful is he in their use that he no longer flings himself on his pallet each night an aching mass of bruises from Uldin's blows and thrusts. Conan becomes a Pit fighter, a man-slayer, battling for his life to feed the blood lust of the Nordheimers. The life, he grimly discovers, is not quite the worst of lives. To face an adversary and kill him is to enjoy, for a fleeting moment at least, the illusion of freedom. It is, in a way, to be a whole man again. The gruelling torment of the Wheel had dehumanized him; the fierce battles of the Pit restore something of manhood and self-love. Yet the life of a Pit fighter nonetheless dulls Conan's spirit. Seeing so much of death, he becomes indifferent to it and cares little whether he himself lives or dies, so long as the crowd greets him with roars of lust and fury. The adulation of the crowd becomes more intoxicating than the strong ale, the generous portions of food, and the praise of his master. Conan learns that life gains an added dimension of intensity when each sunrise may be the last, and his dreams become nightmares in which he finds himself lying, disembowelled, spilling out his guts on soil slimy with blood, while a jeering throng above spits down upon him. Uldin's training has given him the skills to survive, but it cannot shield him from the spiritual erosion of the Pit.

The Measure of the Man: Uldin's Legacy

The true measure of Uldin's influence is revealed not in the Pit but in the moments when Conan's spirit is tested beyond combat. When a Hyrkanian general, amused by the chained barbarian, asks what the young giant considers the best of life, Conan's mouth twitches in a shadow of a smile as he replies, "The best of life is to confront your enemy face to face, to see his hot blood spill upon the earth, and to hear the lamentations of his women!" The general's approval is immediate: "The Pit has not broken the spirit of your champion, O Toghrul. Neither has it sapped his will. Beware lest this young tiger some day turn and rend you!" Toghrul only chuckles, "He wears chains so that he cannot." But the chains are physical; the spirit Uldin helped forge remains free. Years later, when Conan stands before Thulsa Doom in the cult leader's innermost citadel, Doom himself acknowledges the transformation: "Aye! And see what I have made of you, how life has toughened your flesh and hardened your spirit! Look at the strength of your will, your courage, your resolve to slay me to revenge your kin. You have followed me across the world, here to my innermost citadel of power, to avenge wrongs you fancy I have done you; whereas in reality I have made you a champion, a hero, a veritable demigod." Doom claims the credit, but the true architect of Conan's martial prowess was Uldin, the forger of men who took a boy broken by the Wheel and taught him to stand, to strike, and to become a whole man again. The relationship between Conan and Uldin is thus the quiet foundation upon which the barbarian's entire legend is built—a bond of discipline and philosophy that turns suffering into strength and transforms a slave into a champion.