The Shark

As part of my proud geek heritage, I’m a fan of Conan (the barbarian, not the late-night talk show dude. He’s cool too, but I can’t claim him as part of my sub-culture. Sorry). I’m not a obsessive fan, but I’ve read a number of Robert E. Howard’s Conan tales, and appreciate (and have been inspired by) the pure pulpy goodness found therein. I’ve also read enough to know that the true fans despise the post-Howard Conan tales penned by Lin Carter and L. Sprague de Camp.

So I felt a twinge of apprehension — and yes, even guilt — when I picked up an old but serviceable paperback copy of Conan of the Isles written by these two. But it was 50 cents and I was in the mood for some sword and sorcery. How bad could it be?

Picture this:

Conan the barbarian, wearing a glass diving helmet and oxygen tank, walking across the ocean floor, fighting a giant octopus… when suddenly, a giant shark appears and saves him by attacking the eight-legged freak!

What next? Dinosaurs? Robots? Well, I’ve not finished the book yet (And I will finish it, no matter how silly it gets. It’s my curse.) so maybe I’ll discover that it ends in a battle between a T. Rex and Voltron, but after Underwater Fight Club, I won’t be surprised by much.

I love me some pulp fantasy. But after this, when it comes to Conan, I’m sticking to Howard.