"BETWEEEEEN THE TIME WHEN THE OCEANS DRAANK ATLAAANTIS... AAAND the rise of the sons of Aryas... there was an age undreamed-of. AND UNTO THIS, CONAN! Destined to bear the jeweled cwown of
Kahlifonia Aquilonia UP...PON A TROUB...BLED...BROW. It is I, his KWONICLER who ALONE can tell thee of his saga. LET ME TELL YOU OF THE DAYS OF HIIIIIIIGH AD-VEN-TUUUUREE!!!!"
"Well, last night in a tavern, a captain in the king's guard offered violence to the sweetheart of a young soldier, who naturally ran him through. But it seems there is some cursed law against killing guardsmen, and the boy and his girl fled away. It was bruited about that I was seen with them, and so today I was haled into court, and a judge asked me where the lad had gone. I replied that since he was a friend of mine, I could not betray him. Then the court waxed wroth, and the judge talked a great deal about my duty to the state, and society, and other things I did not understand, and bade me tell where my friend had flown. By this time I was becoming wrathful myself, for I had explained my position.
But I choked my ire and held my peace, and the judge squalled that I had shown contempt for the court, and that I should be hurled into a dungeon to rot until I betrayed my friend. So then, seeing they were all mad, I drew my sword and cleft the judge's skull; then I cut my way out of the court, and seeing the high constable's stallion tied near by, I rode for the wharfs, where I thought to find a ship bound for foreign parts."
"Crom, I have never prayed to you before. I have no tongue for it. No one, not even you, will remember if we were good men or bad, why we fought, or why we died. No, all that matters is that two stood against many, that's what's important. Valor pleases you, Crom, so grant me one request. Grant me REVENGE! And if you do not listen, then to hell with you!"
"What of your own gods? I have never heard you call on them."
"Their chief is Crom. He dwells on a great mountain. What use to call on him? Little he cares if men live or die. Better to be silent than to call his attention to you; he will send you dooms, not fortune! He is grim and loveless, but at birth he breathes power to strive and slay into a man's soul. What else shall men ask of the gods?"
— The original Conan explains Cimmerian religion, Queen of the Black Coast
Mongol General: Conan, what is best in life?
Conan: Crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of the women.
— Arnold Conan, supposedly quoting Genghis Khan
"I have known many gods. He who denies them is as blind as he who trusts them too deeply. I seek not beyond death. It may be the blackness averred by the Nemedian skeptics, or Crom's realm of ice and cloud, or the snowy plains and vaulted halls of the Nordheimer's Valhalla. I know not, nor do I care.
Let me live deep while I live; let me know the rich juices of red meat and stinging wine on my palate, the hot embrace of white arms, the mad exultation of battle when the blue blades flame and crimson, and I am content.
Let teachers and philosophers brood over questions of reality and illusion. I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content."
— the original Conan talks about his idea of what is best in life, Queen of the Black Coast
So Conan rolls up and has black hair and a beat up face. He has a sword. Sometimes he steals, sometimes he raids, sometimes he kills things, all the time he is bipolar. He kicks over thrones and shit and crunches them under his dirty feet, that is why he came by.
"Conan is the damnedest bastard that ever was.
He got a long black mane of hair, crystal blue eyes.
Heís a fighter, born on the battlefield. To him, combatís a way of life. Itís all heís ever known, all he ever wants to know! Heís no soldier who was taught to fight. To him fightingís an instinct, itís a part of him. Like his legs, his arms, his chest, his bull neck.
And believe me, he donít take it from nobody. Heíll fight man, beast, devil or god.
And when those women feel those tree-trunk firm arms around their waist, they melt like butter on a hot skillet."