If you ask people about the comic book history of Conan the Cimmerian, it seems like there are three major eras folks think of. There's the original 70s glory days, with the first volumes of Conan the Barbarian and Savage Sword of Conan ending in 1993 and 1995, respectively (and to a slightly lesser extent, Conan the King). There's the second peak with Dark Horse's mid-2000s Conan series led by Kurt Busiek, Cary Nord, and Tim Truman. Then there's the current Titan line which shares the same titles as the original Marvel series. That means that there are two somewhat neglected little periods in there that don't get much attention. One of them is Marvel's second volume of Conan the Barbarian in the 90s, which Tennessee Fats recently did a good video on. The other is this little three-year stint right before Titan picked up the license where Conan was back at Marvel. For how much talent was in the creative pool, it almost makes it weird that this tenure isn't talked about more. From 2019 to 2021, Marvel gave the reigns to Jason Aaron who took over the eponymous title for a dozen issues before handing it to future barbarian stalwart Jim Zub, where it ended on legacy issue #300. Ron Garney, Patch Zircher, Mike Deodato Jr., Esad Ribic, and Greg Smallwood were all handling art at some point, so it's not exactly a slouchy team! The curiosity for me is the Savage Sword title itself. Conan the Barbarian by Jason Aaron makes sense to me. Savage Avengers is new, and extremely cool. But Savage Sword is kind of the odd duck. The original Savage Sword was born out of necessity- skirting the Comics Code Authority to tell more brutal, bloody stories than a monthly comic book could. It was instantly, obviously different: oversized magazine format, double or triple the length of a monthly issue, painted covers, black and white newsprint pages, backup stories or essays or prose. 2019's Savage Sword of Conan by Gerry Duggan is (almost) none of those things, which just makes it odd they gave it that title. It's a standard comic format and it's not any bloodier than the Jason Aaron title, seeing as the Comics Code is long-dead. The most obvious thing it does have in common with the original is painted covers, this time done by GOAT Alex Ross. Marvel did apparently issue a black-and-white version of the story in trade paperback, but I've only ever come across the color version. Additionally, they print part of Scott Oden's story "The Shadow of Vengeance" in the back of the issues, which is cool. Luckily enough for us, all of the hand-wringing I'm doing about inconsistencies above is extremely secondary. Duggan and artist Ron Garney do a great job with a fun, Stygia-set adventure. Conan has been captured at sea by a pirate crew and is gradually nursed back to health by a fellow prisoner named Suty, who he doesn't realize has asked for his freedom in exchange for keeping Conan alive. Conan, of course, needs no help escaping, but because Suty is shackled to him, Suty ends up going with him. The Cimmerian accidentally catches a magical glance of a map belonging to Koga Thun, Stygian sorcerer of some ill repute. Conan and Suty also cross paths with a librarian who teams up with them and they venture into a labyrinth beneath the city for more hijinks to ensure. Duggan nods to REH's serpent men for some pleasant surprises that help you feel like he's done his homework on the history of Conan, and there are some really good lines sprinkled throughout. The thing that feels most notable about their five-issue arc is that it is a perfect case study for how comic book storytelling has changed from Conan's comic heyday in the 70s. The scope of this story isn't too expansive; I can't help but feel that this five-issue story would've occupied a single issue of the original Savage Sword of Conan. A sixty-page adventure broken into a prologue and three or four parts doesn't seem out of place, rather than a 100-plus page treatment it got. I don't necessarily think that would've yielded a better or worse result, but it serves to show how much comic book storytelling has changed in the last fifty years. A bloody story with hand impalements, head lopping, and lots of venom stings doesn't feel as visceral as it might have when that sort of thing was now. If slotted into Marvel's original SSOC volume, it would be somewhere in the middle of the pack. The incredible Alex Ross covers seem to heighten this comparison. Explicit send-ups to the classic Marvel era abound in Ross's gorgeous photorealistic paintings. In one, Conan fights alongside the Black Corsairs and clearly the Marvel Comics version of Bêlit (the furry britches give it away). In another, Ross riffs on Barry Windsor-Smith's iconic cover for Marvel Treasure Edition #4. In another, he literally has Conan stand in front of a slew of old SSOC covers. It's very much different from the thing it's throwing back to. It's a little odd having this low-level pulse when it doesn't really evoke what it's gesturing at. But Duggan and Garney's Savage Sword of Conan is still worth your time.
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When "Hellsgarde" was published in the April 1939 edition of Weird Tales, the C.L. Moore that weird fiction readers knew was almost gone. Bobby Derie points out that "Weird Tales had been sold and the offices moved to New York City; the editor Farnsworth Wright would soon be fired and, in 1940, would die. Moore’s connections to the magazine were fraying." Her final contribution to the Jirel mythos would also be her final contribution to the magazine. She married author Henry Kuttner in 1940 and collaborated with her new husband, mostly under his name, until his death in 1958 at the age of just 42. She had only a few years of fiction writing left, as she turned her prospects to teaching creative writing at the university level in southern California and then quit writing entirely in 1963. Moore stuck around the scene for a while, receiving the World Fantasy Convention Lifetime Achievement Award in 1980 and the title of Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America Grand Master. She passed away in 1987 while battling Alzheimer's. And while her shelf was not completely devoid of hardware and she even has the honor of being one of the first women to be nominated for a Hugo Award, I can't help but feel like there's a dearth of C.L. Moore in the world. There are no comprehensive biographies, no documentary films, no C.L. Moore House & Museum historical site in Indiana. She's certainly a big name to the insular sword & sorcery community and to retro science fiction lovers, but ever since I discovered her, I've felt like it's an injustice that she's limited to that. Her stuff in Weird Tales was generational. She produced incredible work in a very short amount of time. And then, for more than 80 years, Jirel sat quietly. Art by Saprophial, from NESS #3 A few years back, publisher Oliver Brackenbury came knocking on the door of the C.L. Moore estate for his excellent New Edge Sword & Sorcery magazine. There are a lot of interesting new, independent S&S mags popping up, by New Edge is the clear leader of the pack for me. Jirel's had a consistent presence in its pages; as early as the 2022 Issue #0 featured a piece from German Jirel banner-carrier Cora Buhlert entitled "C.L. Moore and Jirel of Joiry: The First Lady of Sword & Sorcery." That was actually my introduction to the character, causing me to track down and devour all of the original stories. But the more exciting thing was that issue #3 would feature a new Jirel story, written by speculative fiction author Molly Tanzer. The Moore estate apparently gave no guidelines and had no demands about how new Jirel material needed to be written. By all accounts, they were easy to work with and just seemed excited that there was new interest in the material. The first result of these talks was "Jirel and the Mirror of Truth," which debuted in 2024. Fret not about how difficult it might be to shake the dust of a character after so long; "Jirel and the Mirror of Truth" fully lives up to Moore's legacy. The action is exciting, Jirel's characterization is consistent, and the supernatural elements keep it grounded in the Weird Tales ballpark. Art by Saprophial, from NESS #3 When writing her new story, the first in over eight decades, Molly realized that Jirel had always left her world and gone to another one in her original stories: an underworld, a magic painting, Pav's Dark Land, Hellsgarde, and then came back, so she wanted to reintroduce her by having her begin in this other world and then return to her own. Our lady of Joiry begins the narrative as the Lady of Coquaigne, seemingly a queen, in love with her consort Etizenne. The name Joiry means nothing to her. Tanzer adds the character of Thevin, Jirel's booze-loving stewardess, and I don't really think it's a spoiler to tell you that Etizenne is yet another dashing but diabolical man in the lady of Joiry's Tinder DMs. Thevin especially adds a lot to the story. It's really the first time Jirel's had another female as a confidant. When I first spoke to Molly about her new Jirel stories, I asked if she was trying to imitate Moore's style or just remain consistent with Moore's vision, and she said the latter. She doesn't try to ape C.L. Moore's writing style, but the change isn't jarring the way jumping from a Robert E. Howard to Robert Jordan Conan story might be. She still writes Jirel as a hothead with good intuition. And when it comes to style, Molly says she likes sword & sorcery because you can get florid in your prose and nobody tries to fight you. We're here for it. Me meeting Molly Tanzer at a "And Side By Side They Wander" release event If you've read anything by Molly Tanzer, you know she's an extremely philosophical author. Her most recent novella, And Side By Side They Wander, is basically a sci-fi art heist that masks a really heady discussion of copies, art, reproduction, and AI. So imagine my surprise when I asked if she was trying to cook deep themes into her Jirel work and she said no, that she's just swinging blades around for fun. Actually, I'm not that surprised. One time I told John C. Hocking I spent his whole Conan and the Emerald Lotus novel thinking it was Conan Says No to Crack and he said no, too. So I've been way off before. Intentionally or not, Moore's work with Jirel is terribly interesting when it came to its themes, grappling with regret, bodily autonomy, revenge, and women's relationships to powerful men. I read a lot of those original stories as kind of obliquely feminist, but I'm not sure how much of that was purposefully done by C.L. Moore. It seems to me that "Jirel and the Mirror of Truth" picks up those threads. Because of the way the characters are released from a spell one by one and are originally broken from that spell through a conversation no one else can see or hear, I immediately thought that this was a depiction of whisper networks used by women to keep themselves safe from abusive men (you may knowof those "Are we dating the same guy?" Facebook groups and the like). Sharing their experiences one at a time to clue people in breaks the spell a manipulator may have on a group. I bought this up to Molly at a brewery and she furrowed her brow, and stared past her beer for a moment before saying that wasn't what she'd had in mind, but that she didn't mind the interpretation. I've also asked her about the ending of the story, in which (actual spoilers ahead now) Jirel is shown by the strange Mirror of Truth an image of herself covered in glistening, silvery scars. The scars do not mar her image, but add to it, each one seemingly a beautiful stitch on her. I thought that this might be tied to one discovering a more true self-image, having broken free from one where you're seen as lesser. Perhaps you can finally appreciate yourself, scars and all. But nope, that seems to be my read on the story alone. Even when she says she's just doing it for fun, writing her take on the slightly meatheaded jock with terrible taste in men that is our lady Joiry, I think she can't help but produce really interesting stuff between the lines.
If you haven't checked out New Edge, the digital editions are pretty reasonable in price, and the new Jirel novella, Blue Fire, has been recently fully-funded, so that should be out soon enough. Chronologically Speaking is a series focused solely on placing the Conan of Cimmeria stories in timeline order. It's an analysis of only the text of Robert E. Howard's original Conan tales. I'm examining the stories one at a time, in publication order, to show explicit chronological notes to order the stories. We've got a live one today. In January of 1935, Robert E. Howard was basking in the acceptance of his story "Beyond the Black River" for Weird Tales, which editor Farnsworth Wright called "his best Conan story so far." Howard seemed jazzed about the direction of the story, telling HP Lovecraft in a letter that he would like to try his hand at a longer yarn, "of the same style, a serial of four or five parts." "The Black Stranger" was probably written soon after, as Patrice Louinet notes in his essay "Hyborian Genesis" that there are partial drafts of other stories found on the backs of the pages of "The Black Stranger" that seem to be from the end of 1934 or very beginning of 1935. This leads Louinet to believe that it was probably written in January or February of 1935. Another thing that I love about what Louinet has to say of the story is that it is a criminally-overlooked story: "The Black Stranger has never received the critical attention it is due, primarily because it was not published in its original form until 1987, when Karl Edward Wagner included it in an anthology. In all its previous appearances, the story had been mercilessly butchered. The tale is simple enough on its surface, mixing elements of piratical adventure and Indian warfare, but should definitely not be dismissed in a cavalier way, as has been done sometimes. The Black Stranger is an extremely complex tale once one has understood that it is replete, consciously or unconsciously, with autobiographical elements, much more so than any of the stories Howard had written to date." Patrice is right. For a long time, "Black Stranger" was swallowed up by the L. Sprague de Camp version, known as "The Treasure of Tranicos" as well as two other versions of the story, neither of which feature Conan. In L. Sprague de Camp's interesting but somewhat self-important essay "The Trail of Tranicos," de Camp notes that Glenn Lord thinks the story is a little older than Louinet does, perhaps written in 1933 or 34, but doesn't list any reasons why. The other rewritten versions of this story include "Black Vulmea's Vengeance," published in Golden Fleece and the variant "Swords of the Red Brotherhood." de Camp's "Treasure of Tranicos" version itself had several different versions, edited by Lester Del Rey seemingly without de Camp's permission (how do you like it, Sprague?). "Treasure of Tranicos" was specifically tied more intentionally to the rest of the Conan mythos by de Camp, inserting Thoth-Amon, King Numedides, and the Aquilonian revolution that seats Conan on the throne. Howard's original cut would not see publication in full until 1987, when it was included by Karl Edward Wagner in his first Echoes of Valor collection, a series well worth the money if you find it available. de Camp and Wagner continue to disagree about the real-life chronology of the manuscript, with de Camp saying, "There is reason to believe that the pirate version came before the Conan one" and Wagner countering, "I have the photocopy of Howard's original manuscript of 'The Black Stranger', which clearly shows Howard's efforts to change the story from the Conan to the Black Vulmea version." I agree with Louinet that it's unfortunate that this story seems so maligned by the other versions of it that came after it (well, technically before it). It has the story threads knotted up and difficult to untangle. Because of de Camp's meddling, I think the story's chronology has historically been misplaced. Every single other notable chronology places this story after "Beyond the Black River," and before "Wolves Beyond the Border." But I think they're all wrong. I was wrong too. When I first blogged about this story in October of 2024, I set it as part of a "Pictish trilogy" with "Black River" and "Moon of Blood." But I now think that was totally incorrect. Let's look at our chronological markers.
Most of these chronological clues above point to this story being a later one, but the last two limit how late it can be. Because Conan goes back to being a Barachan pirate at the end of it, that leads me to believe that "The Black Stranger" is the last Barachan pirate story, not the last story prior to Conan's kingship. The fact that this story takes place so close to "Beyond the Black River," geographically speaking, I think has been historically overrated. The "Tranicos" version does explicitly tie it more directly to Conan's kingship, so it makes sense to put it later if that's the version you're using, but that's not the Howard original. The traditional wisdom has been that this story acts as a bridge between Conan's scouting days and his kingship, but I argue that it would more correctly be seen as a bridge between Conan's final pirate period and his Aquilonian scouting. I think it's likely that in the three years between Conan's ship going down in the ocean and him rearing his head again in "Black Stranger," Conan may have disappeared inland, to see the events of "The Servants of Bit-Yakin" and "Red Nails" take place, both of which mention Conan's recent Barachan pirate period. Though, if we want to assume Conan's Barachan period is longer, it could take place after "The Pool of the Black One" and prior to "The Servants of Bit-Yakin." "The Black Stranger" is a very interesting Conan story. It feels like a cross between Howard's Pictish wilderness story "Beyond the Black River" and the Barachan pirate story "The Pool of the Black One." It's very good, and its chronology was far more interesting to mull over than I thought it would be. Thus stands our most updated version of the chronology.
It's funny how movies change in your estimation depending on the time if your life and the state of the media landscape. For example, The Mask of Zorro came out when I was seven. When I was a kid, I thought it was pretty decent. Not incredible, just a fun distraction. Let me tell you that I know now- I was wrong. That movie fucking rips. I promise we'll get to Red Sonja in a moment. It's kind of funny, both Sonja and Zorro technically came from the pulps (Sonya, with a "y," from Magic Carpet, and Zorro from All-Story) and these two films are continuations of those legacies. The Mask of Zorro really goes for it in ways that we don't see today, even from the very beginning. Zorro, silhouetted by light and fog, carves and flaming Z into the air followed by a wildcat roar and flame explosion into the title. That's tight as shit. Modern films seem pretty afraid to do anything that's pure iconography like that (remember when Batman films ended with Batman running directly toward the camera with the batsignal behind him?). The movie was originally set to be directed by Robert Rodriguez before it passed to Martin Campbell, director of Goldeneye and eventually Casino Royale, and Campbell's clearly doing a successful Rodriguez pastiche. He's not usually the most stylish filmmaker, more of a work-for-hire type of guy, but this movie is positively greased with style. The action is classic adventure material. Sword fights, acrobatics, and western pistols are clanging and thundering throughout, pacing the film fantastically. One dude gets shot while flying through the air not once, but twice. One of the only complaints about millennials that I agree with is that a lot of "millennial writing" in films comes across as jokey, but not actually funny. It's that "He's right behind me, isn't he?" type of writing. And once again, I promise I'll get to to Red Sonja. The humor in this film is a little cartoonish, as Zorro stabs a solider in his ass or tries to jump onto his horse only to have it move out of the way at the last second. But it all works, eliciting smiles all the way through. Antonio Banderas should be more rightfully remembered for his solid comedic timing and not just for his dashing good looks. The most integral piece to the whole thing might be the heart of the film. Zorro fights corruption in the upper class, for the people, and this particular incarnation of Zorro is one of the common people. It's righteous and a total blast to see the rich pricks getting what's coming to them at the end of it. It makes sense when you learn that Steven Spielberg was an executive producer whole played a heavy hand in it. Shot in and around Mexico City, the whole film feels tactile and real, which doesn't sound like much of a compliment, but really is when many films shot today look like they were filmed in front of a green screen in a high school gym in Atlanta. It's beautifully atmospheric when lit torches lick the walls of haciendas and caves, and it's even delightfully grimy and dusty at times. It's something I never noticed before every blockbuster movie started feeling sterile. Seriously, for the longest time, I thought of The Mask of Zorro as just a fine movie. A seven out of ten, and I think that's similar to how most people have viewed it. But it's sharply risen in the last several years, and I now see it as a wildly entertaining movie. Anyway, everything I spoke about positively above does not apply to Red Sonja. I decided to watch it after Molly Tanzer told me it was horrendous. She was right. Stiff, uncompelling, and completely derivative, this thing is a slog. The script is dead on arrival, the performances don't do anything to save the material, and everything looks like it was rendered on a PlayStation 3. And why's there an orc in the Hyborian Age?
Zorro's cool, though. In the modern day, a mother hawks her son's old comic books and some tapes, which are apparently interviews about some old pulp author named C.K. Cole. Some decades ago, a young biographer tapes interviews with an old woman named Lilith about her experiences in the 1930s, playing governess to an unruly girl. Her charge is the daughter of C.K. Cole. In midst of the Depression, we see the the memories of Lilith and her frustrations at taking care of the drunken hot mess that is Helen Cole. And briefly, but never for too long, we see Helen's experiences in another world: a sword & sorcery landscape replete with head-loppings and aloof gods. Helen of Wyndhorn is a 2024/25 miniseries written for Dark Horse by Tom King and Bilquis Evely, the same team responsible for the unforgettable Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow. While I think it's fantastic in its own right, it feels especially so for Robert E. Howard fans. While writing pastiche of REH's writing is a dime a dozen, writing pastiche of the man himself is something I haven't seen before. As the mythology goes, Robert E. Howard wrote his sword & sorcery, western, and horror pulp narratives throughout the Depression in the middle of nowhere in Cross Plains, Texas. He said, hyperbolically as he was prone to, that it was almost as if he wasn't writing his Conan of Cimmeria stories, but just recording them as they were narrated to him by the barbarian himself. A lot of his work plays with this theme of remembrance, filtered through time, most notably the James Allison story "The Valley of the Worm." Helen of Wyndhorn takes this premise and literalizes it. What if Robert E. Howard's stories actually were records of things that had actually happened? In Wyndhorn's version, the REH analogue, C.K. Cole, spends the 30s recording the adventures of his father, Barnabas Cole, known both in literature and his other world as Othan, a great warrior. C.K. leaves behind a daughter, Helen, when he commits suicide, once again mirroring Howard (though Howard had no children), who is then brought to the family estate where she will live with her grandfather. As Helen lives at the Wyndhorn mansion, she gradually learns the true nature of her father's writing and her grandfather's life, which we see unfold slowly. Each character in this story is so well-drawn, terribly flawed and chafing against one another, yet they're all extremely lovable. When the usually-imperious governess Lilith describes Helen as "my Helen," it becomes clear that this story is as much the story of being able to love completely lost people as it is about sword & sorcery action. You might be surprised at how much is withheld in this story, far more than is shown. I mean that in the best possible way, as it all deepens the appeal. In the final issue, a peculiar panel kicks off what may be the most important conversation in the story. During a poetry lesson, one of Lilith's word balloons is obscured behind a support column. I love when comics use the medium to create something that could not exist in film or novels. Helen goes on to ask Lilith if she is "real," saying, "Everything that's happened since father died- none of it makes any sense. This world, the Other World, I'm in one of his stories. There's something wrong with me. I'm not like everyone else, I'm being told." Helen is, of course, not real to us, but she is real in the fiction of her story. I think this is the most compelling thing the book has to say. Helen is equally real as the stories her father so deftly recorded. Perhaps Conan and the Hyborian Age are no less real than Robert E. Howard and his Underwood No. 5 typewriter. The stories still have all the magic and power you could ever want them to. This brings me back to the frame narrative I mentioned up top. The comic sort of moves forward and backward in time at the same moment. It opens in the 70s with a biographer named Thomas Rogers interviewing Lilith about her time at Wyndhorn, but then follows Lilith's story back to the 30s and the tapes themselves forward, as they get put up for auction, sold cheaply at a fan convention, and finally seem to be unearthed one last time in a garage. Everything is layered like a palimpsest: obscuring the past each time. The book ends with Rogers saying to his husband, "You peel back layers looking for the center of a thing, and then you lose the thing itself. Maybe the nanny was right. Maybe it's better to make it all up." Maybe we're all made up, no less real than Helen, Othan, Conan, Solomon Kane, Niord... But I don't want to peel back the layers too far. Our stories are just as vulnerable to the rot of time that the pages of an ill-kept paperback are. Each time Cole's stories or Rogers's tapes pass into new hands, there's a new opportunity for someone to discover their magic, but there's also the risk that those tapes, seemingly the only copy, will be lost forever. Having gotten to know the pulp community over the past years, this struck me. People like Rusty Burke and Bill Cavalier have done four decades of work to continue the legacy of Howard. Oliver Brackenbury was the first person in 85 years to ask the C.L. Moore estate about the rights to her stories, to keep their flame lit. Without people like these, the stories become forgotten. It takes real stewardship to bring them to the next generation.
If you're a sword & sorcery fan, you simply must read Helen of Wyndhorn. I know Tom King has a certain reputation for having personally cradled Dick Cheney's balls while constructing the Iraq War, but his work with Bilquis Evely is one of a kind. The art is gorgeous and the story is deeply moving and refreshing, reminding me what I love so much about this genre. I hope you pick it up. Chronologically Speaking is a series focused solely on placing the Conan of Cimmeria stories in timeline order. It's an analysis of only the text of Robert E. Howard's original Conan tales. I'm examining the stories one at a time, in publication order, to show explicit chronological notes to order the stories. "Drums of Tombalku" is a title given to an untitled synopsis and fragment left behind by Robert E. Howard, first published in 1986 as the fragment and then in 1988 as its synopsis. The untitled work, set near and in an ancient city named Gazal, was given its "Drums of Tombalku" title by L. Sprague de Camp when he heavily edited the work and prepared it for publishing in 1966's Conan the Adventurer. Patrice Louinet notes in "Hyborian Genesis" that Howard's 29-page draft originated as his attempt at a novel, probably written in mid-March 1934 after he wrote "The People of the Black Circle." While the novel ultimately didn't come to fruition in this form, Louinet notes that one line about an invasion of Aquilonia from Nemedia would become the framing device for Howard's successful novel attempt: The Hour of the Dragon. The Gazal fragment is a little peculiar in that Conan is really only a supporting character who shows up toward the end of the fragment. I will defend this fragmentary narrative insofar that it has one near-great horror sequence within the red tower of Gazal. And I wonder how many copies of The Complete Chronicles of Conan have the same typo mine has: Amalric is referred to as "Almaric" on page 827. Was that Howard's typo, or just the book's? Let's see what sort of chronological markers this thing has:
Due to Howard's penchant for making subtle changes to things like names (in all likelihood, just forgetting what he had done the first time), I believe all the above accounts are of the same time in Conan's life. It seems like after Conan left the Black Corsairs at the end of "Queen of the Black Coast," on his way north he became part of the Free Companions who were working in service of Koth's army. Or perhaps the Free Companions tenure grew out of his time with Koth, continuing on with some of the other veterans following the dissolution of the Kothian army. Since the story must follow "Queen of the Black Coast" and is in conversation with "Xuthal" and "Iron Shadows," it seems to be the eighth or ninth story in our chronology right now. Actually though, I think this story is so close in premise and structure that I would probably consider it non-canonical. It rhymes far too much with "Xuthal of the Dusk" to ignore - "Xuthal" is clearly the completed version of this fragment. But if it goes anywhere on the chronology, it goes adjacent to it. These stories are not traditionally grouped very close together. The chronologies from Miller/Clark/de Camp, Robert Jordan, Dale Rippke, and William Galen Gray all have them fairly spread out. Only the Joe Marek chronology really groups them very closely. 1. The Frost-Giant's Daughter
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AuthorHey, I'm Dan. This is my project reading through the career of everyone's favorite sword-and-sorcery character, Conan the Cimmerian, in chronological order. Archives
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