Conan slays the great serpent of Set

Deep beneath the Tower of the Black Serpent, in a rotunda lit by fitful lamps and dominated by a truncated pylon altar awrithe with carved figures and glyphs, Conan faced the guardian of the Cult of Set's most sacred relic. The chamber, some twenty paces across with no entry or egress save the low archway through which the Cimmerian and his companion Subotai had scrambled, held a single monstrous occupant: a serpent of such size that its wedge-shaped head rose to the height of a man when roused. This was the great serpent of Set, the living embodiment of the cult's serpent god, and it coiled protectively around the altar upon which lay the ruby gem known as the Eye of the Serpent. The theft of this jewel was the entire purpose of the night's raid, and the serpent was the last, most terrible obstacle between the two adventurers and their prize.

The Theft and the Awakening

Moving with the silence of a stalking panther, Conan first pulled his baldric over his head and handed his scabbarded weapon to Subotai, trusting his friend to hold it while he attempted the theft unarmed. He glided toward the pylon and its scaly guardian until only a hand's breadth separated his feet from the bulging coils of the creature. Stretching out his arm, he found the ruby gem remained tantalizingly beyond his reach. Frowning in thought, Conan calculated a desperate gambit: if he let his body topple forward, bracing his chest against the pylon, he could reach the jewel without touching the serpent's coils. If he failed, he would surely die. Drawing a deep breath, stiffening his back, and standing on his toes, he fell forward until his outstretched hands made contact with the altar's edge and broke his fall. Tightening the grasp of his right hand, he stretched forth his left to pluck the gem from the indentation in the carven surface on which it lay. The jewel felt icy cold against his palm as he tucked it into his tunic. He was about to try to regain his balance when another object on the altar caught his eye: two writhing serpents with intertwining tails, a medallion that sent his memory fleeing back to the dreadful day in his childhood when wheeling horsemen drove their merciless dogs through the snow-trampled rutted road of his Cimmerian village, raising their swords against defenceless villagers. He remembered the glittering arc made by Doom's sword—his father's sword—and his mother's severed head. It was a grim-faced Conan who clamped the medallion between his jaws and heaved himself into an upright position.

The Struggle in the Rotunda

Turning toward the low archway, Conan saw a look of horror cross the Hyrkanian's face. "Behind you!" croaked Subotai, his vocal chords half paralysed with terror. Conan whipped around to find that the serpent had awakened. The great wedge-shaped head, as large as that of a horse, rose to the height of a man. The slavering jaws opened, like a miniature drawbridge, to reveal rows of dagger fangs. When the huge body lunged forward, Conan whipped out his long-bladed dirk and, with the tigerish speed of a trained killer, struck. The dagger's needle point impaled the serpent's lower jaw and drove in through the reptile's palate, pinning the wicked jaws together. Hissing, the wounded serpent threw a confining coil about its attacker's body, immobilizing one of Conan's arms. A jerk of the creature's head tore the dirk out of the barbarian's grasp and carried it out of reach. Struggling to loose the deadly coil, Conan staggered back against the wall of the chamber, but to no avail. The snake threw a second coil about him. Conan's face blackened as the relentless coils squeezed the breath from his body. With his free arm, the Cimmerian sought to batter the serpentine head against the wall, but so large and powerful was the reptile that his effort was futile.

In an agony of fear, Subotai danced about trying to get a clear shot at the serpent without further endangering his friend. At last, he nocked an arrow and released his bowstring. The missile sank halfway into the scaly neck, but the serpent seemed to feel nothing. It whipped another murderous coil about the Cimmerian's legs, nearly dragging him to the ground. With a mighty heave of chest and shoulders, Conan managed to force the serpent's head against the wall, so that the dagger point, which protruded from the creature's skull, scraped on the mortar between two stones. With his remaining strength, the barbarian pounded the pommel of the dirk with his free fist, driving the point into the crumbling mortar. During that momentary respite, Subotai shot another arrow, then a third. This missile drove through the serpent's neck and pierced the mortar, immobilizing the reptile. As it thrashed about to free itself, it loosed its grip on its adversary, and Conan, reeling from the exertion, fought free.

The Beheading

"Catch, Conan, catch!" hissed Subotai, tossing the barbarian's sword to him, hilt first. Conan caught the weapon and wheeled, just as the snake pulled loose from its insecure restraint. As the scaly body plunged toward the Cimmerian, he raised the sword and, with two mighty hands upon the pommel, brought the blade down across the serpent's neck, severing the head. "Watch out!" called Subotai, as the headless body thrashed like a giant whip, knocking Conan to the ground and sending the Hyrkanian flying across the empty altar. Slowly, the reptilian thrashings ceased as the creature's life-blood ebbed, and the battered adventurers gathered up their scattered gear and made their way back into the carrion-littered hall above.

The Desecration of the Sacred

The slaying of the serpent was not merely a feat of arms; it was a profound desecration of the cult's most sacred space. The chamber below the tower was the site of the cult's most terrible rituals, where the floor beneath the circular opening was littered with corpses, male and female, some fresh, others far gone in decay, still others reduced to skeletal remains. It was here that the cultists, young persons of both sexes in hooded robes, gathered to worship, and here that a beautiful young woman, scarcely shielded by a gauzy wisp of fabric, had mounted a stone corbel to be cast into the corpse-filled pit as a sacrifice. The serpent was the living god of this charnel house, the embodiment of Set himself, and its death was a blow struck directly at the heart of the cult's power. When Conan and Subotai emerged into the hall above, the ceremony was nearing its climax. The black priest Yaro, rising to his full height, commanded the mesmerized girl on the corbel to fall. But instead of a broken body atop the pile of corpses, Yaro saw the girl lowered unharmed to the floor by the arms of a giant who had caught her as she fell. He heard her shriek, "Our god is dead, is dead!" as she stared through the archway wherein the headless serpent lay. He watched as the giant recovered the bloodstained sword he had cast aside to catch the falling girl and as, with a smaller man beside him, the intruder vanished into the darkness.

The death of the serpent reverberated through the entire narrative. It was the first tangible proof that the cult's power could be broken, that its god could be slain. The girl's cry, "Our god is dead, is dead!" echoed the cult's own chants of "Doom! Doom! Thulsa Doom!" and inverted them, turning the cult's mantra of power into a proclamation of its vulnerability. The event also forged a deeper bond between Conan and Subotai, who had risked his life to save his friend, and it set the stage for the final confrontation at the Mountain of Power, where Conan would again face the serpent's master. The beheading of the great serpent prefigured the beheading of Thulsa Doom himself, who would later reveal his own serpentine nature, bearing the scaly serpent head of the ancient snake-men. In slaying the serpent, Conan had not only stolen the Eye of the Serpent and the medallion that would lead him to his destiny; he had also, in a sense, struck the first blow of his vengeance against the man who had murdered his mother and stolen his father's sword.