Conan the Barbarian
“In the great hall of the palace, Osric, King of Zamora, made wassail. His seers had informed him that Conan had reached the Mountain of Power and penetrated the recesses of its most secret temple; now the king looked forward to the imminent return of his daughter.His age-worn frame was decked in robes of glittering brocade, his bent fingers glowed with splendid rings; he sat on his throne proudly, sipping rich wine from a cup of beaten gold. In the cheerful light of many candles, some as tall a...s a five-year child and as thick as a man’s thigh, lordly courtiers strolled in all their finery or gathered near the monarch to renew friendships long grown cold. At Osric’s feet, slave girls in loose trousers of bright transparent gauze reclined on purple and crimson cushions, reminding those with long acquaintance of the warrior-king of bygone years, before the cult of Set had infected the land with fear and loathing.Yet even here in the throne room itself, the king did not feel safe from the assassins of the cult leader Doom; thus, grim-faced guards stood in pairs at every portal and at each open window to secure the monarch from stealthy footsteps in the night.Osric broke off his unwanted banter as the chief chamberlain approached the throne, candlelight flashing from the polished curves of his silver mace of office.MoreLess
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