Conan

Annaki: Legend of the Death Bird

Fiction by zzetta13

"Know thee, O prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars"...

Author's note: Exploring the character of Conan the Barbarian. My hope is that new readers to this work will at least give it a try, and I'm talking here about the works of Robert E. Howard, Lin Carter & L. Sprague de Camp.

Conan was first introduced to me years ago and was a character that touched my soul. Written by Author Robert E. Howard, for pulp-fiction at the time, the character gained popularity by the reprint and completion of his stories by publishing company Lancer Books (in the early 70'ties). I spent one whole summer submerged in these novels, and I couldn't get enough of them.

Anyhoo, I am sure that many individuals and writers of today can speak that those books, those novels (as well as others) made an impact on their lives.

Conan, as the author was first to note, was of the age of a time whenever a boy was to be born, the son of a mother and father whom were not of royal birth, but rather, of a tribe of hill-folk that lived well to the north of civilized society. Cimmerians they were called, and unto them would be produced a future king, a man whose legacy would influence the rest of the world. That man, that future king, would eventually become known as Conan, Conan the Barbarian (as he was still called "barbarian" by the literates of his age that considered him as less than human).

Conan was not a man bound by the laws of the world of his time. As to say, he was not anchored down by legends, traditions, or the superstition of his age, which is to say he did not let them hinder him in his search for adventure or stop him from doing what he wanted to do. Conan was from a different race of people, a different breed. He had grown to believe that the only way to knowledge was to experience things for oneself. Therefore, his zeal was to live life to the fullest, to experience things that lay well beyond the borders of his land, and beyond superstition and fear.

Most people of the barbarian's time (just as now) lived in the safety of their cacoon, but not he, Conan, he considered himself as someone willing to travel to the lowest levels of Hades or to ascend to the highest mountain of his god Crom, to find and discover the truth (even if it meant that he would sacrifice, meet the devil of his time face to face, Satan, or the Divinity, God Himself), to gain understanding of the cosmos.

Conan was the type of individual that held the deepest inquest to understanding and the acknowledgement of the universe, beyond the heavens as to say. He lived not in fear of death for he knew death was coming for him at some point, actually he considered the reaper as a traveling companion. He still believed that a man was a master of his own fate, but he also believed that, if someone feared death or dying then they roped themselves, figuratively speaking, into a corral of horses. That they would never extend consciousness to the outer boundaries of human thought.

I hope readers give the Conan character a try, here, and at least the twelve original paperbacks books published in the early to late 70ties by Lancer Publishing. I consider them adventure filled and a joy to read, Z

Prologue to Legend...

It had been spoken about the Cimmerian culture that, as man-child approached only a handful of summers of age he was taken out and then led onto a journey, a quest, a time to prove his blood and his bravery. It was considered savagery by some, barbaric, uncivilized and something expected by those who lived out in the wild as wild. Well, that my friend, is exactly what it was...but it was not cruel.

The boys were taken out into the snow, far away, to a region, a place known to have sheer cliffs and steep ravines. They were then led up an escarpment, many lengths high, and placed upon a far ledge amongst the frost and the ice. It was a far drop below, a long distance; any slip would mean a certain fall to death. The boys were then told that they must climb down, not by way of the path they'd come, but by route of the sheer mountainside itself, therefore, upon descent they knew that they must grip the rock with all their strength, and, they must be smart. They must search for the best way to descend.

The only way to Valhalla (heaven) to meet Crom, their god, was through struggle, sacrifice, and adventure. And that was how the world to them would be from this moment on.

Those who were able to descend the cliff successfully, were considered proud blood of the Cimmerian peoples and might even someday come to be chief of one of its many separate tribes. The ones who did not climb down or met with ill favor, well their father's left the ravine with woe, and a sad tale to tell.

This was the race of a youth, a boy, someone who would grow to become a man, a man who had struggled, had sacrificed and most certainly, seen adventure. A man that one day would be ruler of his own kingdom. That man, one of the boys who'd come down the cold, frozen, rocky cliff that day, so many years before, was Conan, Conan of Cimmeria.

At the time of this writing the young barbarian boy Conan, had seen less than twenty summers, still he was already almost six feet in height, and he was someone not to be trifled with.

Conan and the Legend of the Death Bird...

The man walked through the wilderness with the corpse of an animal he had just hunted draped around his shoulders. The beast's hooved legs were tied together across his chest so that he could travel with his arms free. His body was covered in a thin layer of animal hide and in his right hand he carried a long wooden staff, protection from any predator wanting to take his kill from him, or maybe even take him as its next meal.

It was known, that during winters such as this, harsh and foreboding, creatures of the land were desperate enough to make the attempt to claim a prize from the humans they shared this rugged country with, even one of his stature.

The man was young, he had only seen sixteen summers, however he was tall, and his torso and shoulders spoke that those had been hard summers, followed by even harder winters, yet he had fought through them and grown strong. The snow, in which he was traveling, was up to his knees, but he was making his passage through with seemingly with little effort. From his lips poured the frost of a chilled breath, proving the frigidness which remained in the mid-morning air. However, neither the cold nor the weight of the beast upon his shoulders seemed to bother him much.

He paused momentarily, sensing something watching him, eyes upon his shoulder's from above. He turned and witness something well off in the distance, something dark and foreboding up in the clear blue heavens. It was stygian, and so far up in the northern sky that even with his steel blue eyes, eyes of an eagle, he could not make out its details; however its wingspan was enormous, and he knew, he knew this beast was no animal, it was a god, the god...

"Annaki...,"

He whispered the name under his breath, for it was spoken that anyone uttering the god by name must pay a toll, a price, even though it be spoken in private, with no other around to hear. The lad took a shallow swallow; his throat parched a bit from the intake of the thin frigid air of the highlands. He would partake of a handful of snow later, to quench it down a bit, however his eyes remained transfixed on the sight above.

It was only a black patch so far up in the sky and it seemed to just hover there, float on the wind, which blew upward and lifted from the high mountain peaks far below. He knew too that seeing it up in the sky, on a day like this, was an omen, it meant that the god was hungry, hungry and desiring of payment to keep itself satisfied until a time next winter, or some future time to come when it grew weary again.

The fable of Annaki was legend, a tale spoken of around campfire by elders to the young when they were first allowed to listen to such things. He recalled that it was said that when the beast would appear in the sky, that it had grown tired of the vast treasure horde it kept in its cave and had a desire for more. It was spoken that the god lived high up in the mountains, in an inaccessible lair in a cliff-side dwelling, and that it had a thirst for wealth and riches, and to look upon its face, or to attempt to steal any of its treasures meant certain ill fate.

Conan did not know if he believed any of that. Even his god, the Cimmerian god, did not ask for treasure. Crom lived up in a palace in the mountains also, and was seated on a throne that he looked down from and was humored by the quests of humankind. However, he neither helped nor hindered his creation. What fate lay before humankind was their own, and of their own making. Crom did respect strength and courage though, and upon death would evaluate one's life before allowing them into Valhalla.

The man staring up at the beast now had made a promise to himself, that at one time, some day, he would travel to the Annaki's home, find it, and go inside. He would see for himself the riches which had been offered to the flying god over the years, and the wealth spoken to be stowed inside its lair.

Almost as a reflex, he reached up and pulled at the leather strap which hung around his neck, the thin strap on which was strung six small pieces of the hard gleaming rock which was treasured by the tribes of his clan, and even more so by the tribes which lived in the huge camps to the south. Cities they were called, and sometimes when people left those cities and traveled here to his mountainous lands of Cimmeria they made trade for the yellow rock, they called it gold.

Gold was a metal whose value seemed high, and the minute pieces held around his neck Conan had found himself in a riverbed just this past summer. He also knew that gold was treasured by "Annaki", the Death Bird of the sky, and the god would send its priests out, its followers to collect it for him. He knew too that if the beast was displeased with the offering of any tribe, or if they refused to pay tribute, it would venture from its lair and destroy that village, and the lives of those of its dissatisfaction. It would burn their homes to the ground so that not even a kindling of wood remained standing. He had seen it, witnessed the destruction other tribes' villages with his own eyes after the beast had come and gone. It was said that the god could breathe fire, which is why some of his kinsmen called it a dragon rather that a bird.

Conan did not know or care whichever the beast made be, all he knew was that he wanted to see it, witness it up close himself, and its treasure, even though it was said to bring death.

Conan watched the beast hover for a while. Then he returned to the task of bringing his hunt to his family so that they may eat well this night. He would also give some of the meat to the family of Glista, a girl of his fondness and one he meant call his own and take into his dwelling, when the time had come for him to have his own dwelling, which would not be long. He would make her his mate, and she would bare to him his children. Maybe this was all unknown to her at the time, but it was another promise Conan had made to himself...

He smiled and headed towards a shallow snow lined creek just up ahead of him.

To be continued...