I can’t stop laughing send help.
Yes, folks, this is indeed Conan the Barbarian you’re looking at. I shit ye not.
I remember the time Jason Mamoa assumed the role for the recent Conan movie and people screamed and bitched up a storm because he looked like Barry Windsor-Smith’s version of the character…which somehow equated to him looking like a pussy in their minds. Methinks when one sees what Conan looked like originally, some perspective is well in order.
And here’s how the scene on the cover unfolds in the story (which can be read over here)
Conan cleared the space between him and the throne with a desperate bound, his scimitar swinging with all his power. And with such blinding speed did the serpent move that it whipped about and met him in full midair, lapping his limbs and body with half a dozen coils. His half-checked stroke fell futilely as he crashed down on the dais, gashing the scaly trunk but not severing it.
Then he was writhing on the glass steps with fold after slimy fold knotting about him, twisting, crushing, killing him. His right arm was still free, but he could get no purchase to strike a killing blow, and he knew one blow must suffice. With a groaning convulsion of muscular expansion that bulged his veins almost to bursting on his temples and tied his muscles in quivering, tortured knots, he heaved up on his feet, lifting almost the full weight of that forty-foot devil.
An instant he reeled on wide-braced legs, feeling his ribs caving in on his vitals and his sight growing dark, while his scimitar gleamed above his head. Then it fell, shearing through the scales and flesh and vertebrae. And where there had been one huge, writhing cable, now there were horribly two, lashing and flopping in the death throes. Conan staggered away from their blind strokes. He was sick and dizzy, and blood oozed from his nose. Groping in a dark mist he clutched Octavia and shook her until she gasped for breath
Rebloged to the correct blog this time aaaaah.