14th March 2003, digital painting from pencil sketch, 13.5x21cm

A digitally painted version of the black & white conceptual sketch Conan the Pit Fighter, painted in under two hours,
retaining the original pencil.

Here Robert E Howard's hero returns in a conceptual sketch, partially inspired by the Pit fighting scenes in the movie Conan the Barbarian, and the novelization of the Oliver Stone/John Milius screenplay by L Sprague de Camp and Lin Carter.  An enslaved teenage Conan is forced to fight for his life in the Pit in gladiatorial combat to the death, whilst warlords and crowds above wager on who will live and who will die...  Needless to say, Conan the Champion's greatest prize became life itself...

... As the young Conan was led chained into an airless, stench-filled room, something akin to panic seized the young barbarian.  He felt the presence of others, but their forms were only shadows in the darkness.  Then the man named Uldin lit a stub of a taper.  In the flickering light of this pale candle, Conan saw his fellow slaves, ragged and unwashed, lying on the raw dirt floor.  Silent, unmoving, they watched him, their fire-lit eyes reflecting scant humanity.

Uldin unlocked Conan's bulky collar and removed it.  Then he faced the travel-worn youth.  "What is your name?" he barked.

"Conan."

"Whence come you?"

"I am a Cimmerian.  Why am I here?"

"To learn to fight," said Uldin.  "What do you know of fighting?"

"Nothing," growled Conan.  "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."

"Then we'll start will bare-hand fighting.  Take off your shirt."

The Cimmerian obeyed, peeling off his course tunic carefully, lest the fabric tear beyond utility.  The trainer studied Conan's body critically, raising the taper to complete his task.

"The wheel gave you good shoulders," he grunted.  "Try to throw me."

Crouching, Conan moved toward the Hyrkanian trainer, his arms reaching out for a hold.  He never understood what happened next.  The short man slipped out of Conan's grasp as if he had been a column of smoke.  A moment later, a foot caught the Cimmerian's ankle and sent him sprawling.

"Again!" commanded Uldin, as the befuddled youth struggled to his feet.

Conan advanced cautiously, thinking: I'll seize his neck and throw him across my hip, as we used to do as boys.  But the trainer, instead of avoiding Conan's clutching arms, allowed the Cimmerian to catch his head in the crook of an elbow.  Then, lithe as a panther, Uldin threw himself backwards, pulling Conan forward above him.  As Uldin fell supine, he doubled up his legs, planting his feet against Conan's belly, and shoved violently upward.  The youth flew over the trainer's head, to land heavily on his back.  Uldin rolled to his feet and stood looking down at him with a crooked grin.

Conan rose, snarling like a wolf at bay.  "Crom damn you!" he spat, and rushed upon Uldin again - only to go sprawling once more.

This time, when Conan got up, he found Uldin grinning at him like a bald-headed ape.  "Go on - hate me!" rasped the Hyrkanian.  "Hate will make you a better fighter.  But you have much to learn.  Tomorrow we'll get on with the first lesson."

Throughout that summer, Conan learned to fight for his life.  In the Pit, it was fight or die.  Conan fought and lived.

The first time Conan was dropped into the Pit, he gave a swift, all-encompassing glance around the place of death or triumph.  Wagers were made as the young Cimmerian faced an experienced opponent, but after the initial exchanges it became apparent that Conan would not be beaten easily.  Some shouted in amazement; others in anger, as they saw their wagers fade away.  Still others roared encouragement; for never had they seen such a fight between an untried youth and a proven champion.

Conan ignored the crowd.  For him the world was narrowed to one Pit and one antagonist.  As the lust to kill welled up in him, he hammered his dazed opponent again and again.  Despite receiving painful injuries in the exchanges that ensued, Conan put an end to the match once and for all, dislocating the man's shoulder and breaking his neck with an audible snap as the crowd gaped in stunned silence.  Swaying with exhaustion, Conan let the twitching body slide to the ground.  He staggered away, bracing himself against the pit wall and gasped for air.

The crowd went mad.  Chieftains ripped off golden armlets and broaches and hurled them into the Pit, at Conan's feet.  But the weary Cimmerian ignored the glittering bounty.  Just being alive was treasure enough.

Thus the young Cimmerian became a Pit fighter, a manslayer, battling for his life to feed the bloodlust of the Nordheimers.

The life of a Pit fighter was not quite the worst of lives, Conan grimly discovered.  To face an adversary and kill him was to enjoy, for a fleeting moment at least, the illusion of freedom.  It was, in a way, to be a whole man again.  The gruelling torment of the Wheel had dehumanised him; the fierce battles of the Pit restored something of manhood and self-love.

The young Cimmerian had a lot to learn...

Extract from Conan the Barbarian by L Sprague de Camp and Lin Carter, edited.