Robert E. Howard was a pulp writer in the 1930s and sadly committed suicide in 1936, the year in which Red Nails was published in Weird Tales. Although the term pulp writer might not get your literary panties in a bunch, Howard is widely regarded as an extremely talented writer. Check out the high level of ongoing devotion at the Cimmerian if you need confirmation beyond my opinion.
I recently found the story Red Nails at Gutenberg.org and dressed it up with some cover art and formatted it nicely as an epub and pdf with table of contents. Red Nails - A Tale of Conan and Valeria by Robert E. Howard is now a free ebook in my free classic ebooks collection. Howard's writing definitely inspired my love of the fantasy genre. I started reading him as an adolescent after raiding my older brother's book collection and immediately became enamored of his vivid world of sorcery, the supernatural, sex, and violence. Conan makes a compelling hero because he is stronger and tougher than other men and has a wily wit. He is hardly a white-hat hero. He is not evil or mean, but he moves freely in a criminal world. He pirates and plunders and fills in gaps in outright thievery with frequent stints as a mercenary. He drinks and whores and always manages to knock up princesses. As he matures he pursues more lofty goals like conquering a kingdom and ruling it, or more correctly defending it.
Enjoy this brief sample from Red Nails and then go download it:
The sun rose behind the city, turning the towers to a sinister crimson.
“Black last night against the moon,” grunted Conan, his eyes clouding with the abysmal superstition of the barbarian. “Blood-red as a threat of blood against the sun this dawn. I do not like this city.”
But they went on, and as they went Conan pointed out the fact that no road ran to the city from the north.
“No cattle have trampled the plain on this side of the city,” said he. “No plowshare has touched the earth for years, maybe centuries. But look: once this plain was cultivated.”
Valeria saw the ancient irrigation ditches he indicated, half filled in places, and overgrown with cactus. She frowned with perplexity as her eyes swept over the plain that stretched on all sides of the city to the forest edge, which marched in a vast, dim ring. Vision did not extend beyond that ring.
She looked uneasily at the city. No helmets or spear-heads gleamed on battlements, no trumpets sounded, no challenge rang from the towers. A silence as absolute as that of the forest brooded over the walls and minarets.
The sun was high above the eastern horizon when they stood before the great gate in the northern wall, in the shadow of the lofty rampart. Rust flecked the iron bracings of the mighty bronze portal. Spiderwebs glistened thickly on hinge and sill and bolted panel.
“It hasn’t been opened for years!” exclaimed Valeria.
“A dead city,” grunted Conan. “That’s why the ditches were broken and the plain untouched.”
“But who built it? Who dwelt here? Where did they go? Why did they abandon it?”
“Who can say? Maybe an exiled clan of Stygians built it. Maybe not. It doesn’t look like Stygian architecture. Maybe the people were wiped out by enemies, or a plague exterminated them.”
“In that case their treasures may still be gathering dust and cobwebs in there,” suggested Valeria, the acquisitive instincts of her profession waking in her; prodded, too, by feminine curiosity. “Can we open the gate? Let’s go in and explore a bit.”
Conan eyed the heavy portal dubiously, but placed his massive shoulder against it and thrust with all the power of his muscular calves and thighs. With a rasping screech of rusty hinges the gate moved ponderously inward, and Conan straightened and drew his sword. Valeria stared over his shoulder, and made a sound indicative of surprise.
They were not looking into an open street or court as one would have expected. The opened gate, or door, gave directly into a long, broad hall which ran away and away until its vista grew indistinct in the distance. It was of heroic proportions, and the floor of a curious red stone, cut in square tiles, that seemed to smolder as if with the reflection of flames. The walls were of a shiny green material.
Free fantasy ebook by Robert E. Howard
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Great stuff, your ladyship! As a former contributor to The Cimmerian I deeply appreciate the link. It's great to know more Howard fans who appreciate his literary qualities!
ReplyDeleteThanks for the nice comment, Taranaich. I've always been impressed with Howard's abilities as a writer. I should read more of his work. I've always though REH could summon an epic landscape with a mere phrase.
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