Conan the Barbarian #5: The Argos Deception Part 2

Laconic Depression

Incomprehension and language inability birthed the term barbarian. Despite his plethora of physical power, Conan’s dialogue in the fifth issue of Conan the Barbarian would earn him treasure chests of rejection slips from Poetry magazine:

“I am going to die today.”

“Crom…”

“!”

“My sword…!”

“Gah! Enough!”

“Over here. Too Slow.”

“You are all my witnesses. I shall walk away from here a free man, as per the rules of the contest, for I have beaten the best that Messantia has to offer.”

“Bêlit.”

"Enough. Is it not enough I have survived an ordeal? You must also remind me of those horrible visions of yours?"

Even though Conan speaks better with hand gestures (at his most articulate when that hand grips a sword), the above collection of words better situate the character as the novice adventurer befitting Conan’s age and experience. While previous story arcs attempted to take Conan back to his youth, to a time when didn’t invulnerability forever accompany the barbarian, he still remained unvanquished in most of these stories. The tales were enjoyable, but doubt never encroached upon Conan’s triumph or superior skills.

In Part 2 of the “The Argos Deception,” Conan’s absent confidence and planning sincerely spills from the pages. Brian Wood has written a Conan that, despite readers knowing the inevitable outcome, has Conan himself sincerely doubting his own triumph. Here, the despair of Conan exudes sincerity and Brian Wood’s writing has the reader emphasizing with the barbarian as strongly and skillfully as any spell cast by Thoth Amon.

Conan’s absence of spirit keeps despairing silence as its companion. Although rarely written as an eloquent rhetorician, Conan’s words charm. His stories helped him win over the crew of the Tigress, and while often maintaining a confident stoical silence, silence doesn’t serve him this way at the prison cell and gallows of Messantia. Conan’s despair strangles his words into a statement of doom, “I am going to die today” (the first words he speaks aloud in this issue),and limited bursts of observations, short exclamations, or silence, until he finally defeats the 30-year champion of Messantia. This physical victory restores his words to a powerful confident statement accustomed to a Conan who will go on to trample empires beneath his feet and wear the jeweled crown of Aquilonia upon a troubled brow: “You are all my witnesses. I shall walk away from here a free man, as per the rules of the contest, for I have beaten the best that Messantia has to offer.”  Here, at this moment in this issue we see how Conan’s triumph through physicality brought him confident articulate expression in words. These two simple statements contain all the power and simple truth the barbarian treasures. The crowd heeds Conan’s words; none attempt to impede his escape for they’ve heard and believe his words and know Conan is the best in Messantia. 

Yet after the fight, Conan slides back into fragments and questions. He’s accompanied out of the impromptu arena by N’Yaga, the seer aboard the Tigress who reminds Conan of forthcoming events he glimpsed in a vision. This reference seems to shake the confidence Conan gathered from victory and returns his language to questions for which N’Yaga offers only enigmatic answers.  Once beyond the assurance of his sword arm (with a lifeless headless corpse at his feet for proof) Conan’s naïveté becomes apparent. But we know his ignorance and inexperience won’t endure forever, especially not with a strategist and schemer like Bêlit for his tutor. James Harren’s images strengthen Brian Wood’s verbal sorcery in the script that evokes Conan’s despair. A flying pigeon juxtaposes Conan in a prison cell. The pigeon gains a reprieve from its cage; its handler releases it into the air, and the bird soars under its own power, escaping to emancipation.  The next panel on the third page gives the reader Conan, in the lower right corner (the place where sentences and pages end; the place that holds no hope of possibility or new revelations; the place of endings and conclusions, the last moments and death of a page’s possibility). Having Conan in shadows, one eye swollen shut, the other with the iris half hidden beneath the upper eye lid, a thick manacle ensnaring his wrist, and the slumped of one resigned to doom accompanied by the down-turned gash of a mouth on full frown (all this despite Bêlit’s amorous visit mere hours earlier), add to the main character’s despair. And yet, even though young and revolving through moments of doubt, Conan ends the issue if not free in some existential sense, at least free from shackles and prison and the noose. He holds his sword, his decapitated opponent bleeds at his feet, the ships in the harbor burn and Conan, despite the leg irons, walks towards his escape, treasure, love, and destiny.