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- Herausgeber: Titan Books
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Sprache: Englisch
While working as a mercenary, Conan and his party are ambushed. The attack is swift, precise and well-planned; the party have been double crossed. However, the traitor didn't account for a man like Conan. Along with Titus, another formidable mercenary, Conan fights off the horde, takes payment and finds comfort in a nearby tavern. Wanderlust and duty soon separate the two, but fate will reunite them on the battlefield.
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Seitenzahl: 45
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
1
2
3
4
About the Author
CONAN: COMRADES
E-book edition ISBN: 9781803366579
Published by Titan Books
A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd
144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP
www.titanbooks.com
First edition: September 2025
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.
© 2025 Conan Properties International (“CPI”). CONAN, CONAN THE BARBARIAN, CONAN THE CIMMERIAN, HYBORIA, THE SAVAGE SWORD OF CONAN and related logos, names and character likenesses thereof are trademarks or registered trademarks of CPI. ROBERT E. HOWARD is a trademark or registered trademark of Robert E. Howard Properties LLC. Heroic Signatures is a trademark of Cabinet Licensing LLC.
Brian D. Anderson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
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The two hulking Kushites snarled out their challenge, glaring at Conan through the narrow slits of their battle-worn helms, the one on the left wielding a heavy, thick-handled axe, the other a sword that was nearly as long as he was tall. Even at a glance, Conan knew that these were not vagabonds or petty thugs. These were hired killers. Mercenaries much like himself. Definitely not who he would expect to encounter on what was supposed to be an easy escort job. Along the winding, isolated roads of central Kush, there was never a shortage of foul bandits and cutthroats eager to prey upon vulnerable travelers. But this was a ten-wagon caravan protected by fifteen seasoned and heavily armed warriors. Either the attackers were desperate, or they had their own agenda that had little if anything to do with the goods being transported.
At the moment, the reason for the attack was irrelevant. There was a job to do. And men to slay.
The brute on his left hefted his great axe and charged in with surprising swiftness for someone of his build. In coordination, the man on his right leveled his blade, intent on skewering Conan when he attempted to evade the other man’s blow. But rather than stepping away, Conan raised his sword and pivoted, rushing toward the incoming axe, his superior speed placing him just inside the cutting edge, narrowly avoiding being split in half. His blade scraped along the shaft, slicing through his foe’s knuckles. The man wailed and cursed, but his forward momentum was unhindered, and he collided with Conan’s shoulder.
Though outweighed, Conan was nimble enough to twist away in time to prevent being sent to his back on the hard-packed road. With his second opponent turning, dragged forward by the weight of his massive sword, Conan brought his blade up in a sweeping strike that landed just beneath the armpit and lodged between the shoulder and collar bone. A spin and a hard pull was enough for pitiless steel to carve through tender flesh and sever the arm completely. Blood pumped from the wound in time with his heartbeat, screams of pain and shock inspiring a smile to creep up from the corners of the barbarian’s lips.
Even with the loss of two fingers, the axe-wielding mercenary was far from vanquished. This was a man who had seen more than his share of carnage and bore the scars to tell the tale of many battles. Regaining his balance, he stepped away from the wagon, his blade slicing through the air as he reeled to again face Conan. The Cimmerian’s speed continued to serve him well and he ducked away in time, thrusting his weapon through a wiry beard, finding the soft, pink skin just behind the jawline. The sword slipped effortlessly through bone, brains, and tissue, halting as the tip reached the top of the skull. The contest was over. The dull-eyed stare and dribble of blood mixed with spittle that spilled out and dangled from his bottom lip formed a macabre portrait of how a warrior’s life often ended.
Conan roared as he jerked his sword free and stalked toward the lead wagon. Two more foes found themselves standing in the path of his battle lust. They did not stand long. With each breath, his heart pounded out a war cadence, pumping fire and rage into sinewed arms. His comrades were faring well, so far as he could tell, though he was not taking careful notice. His focus was fixed on his primary job: Protect the merchant Marisova Mella and his wife.
All other concerns were secondary.
