Wulf the Eternal Warrior

Wulf looked out on a scene of madness. For days, he had been following the slavers, knowing these dusky Arabian Afghuli raiders were taking their human flesh to Kemet where many would be sacrificed to the serpent god Kos. They always had a huge snake that they worshipped, and always would.

Throughout the Northern nations, there had been a recent disgust towards all things “slave”- unsurprising, since within the European nations, and especially in the northern kingdoms of Germania, Norseland, and among the Celts- there was no history of slavery at all! They actually found the very notion, in all of these nations, as repugnant.

And so, no slaves would be bought in the northlands- only in the very black kingdoms themselves were slaves bought and sold, along with the kingdom of Kemet, a race of dusky skinned, straight-haired peoples, who would use slaves in their households, and also as sacrifices to their serpent-god.

The barbarian had been employed to recover these slaves that had been taken from Zembabwei by this band of raiding Afghuli slavers. He had been employed by the white ruler of Zembabwei, King Abenzi, as someone to hijack these slaves, and divert them back into his own “property”. Although a society mostly black, the ruling caste of Zimbabwei was white, and mixed race.

The lighter-skinned ruling elite had settled there long ago, having left Kemet in a royal battle centuries past. Over time, they had mixed with the natives, but still it was considered the mark of the elite to be lighter skinned. The majority black population was ruthlessly subjugated with the whip and the spear, and in fear of the true ruler of Zembawei, the witch Harun.

Wulf cared nothing for their local politics, and also had no objection to training and leading a small troop of blacks on this mission. They were not slaves, but had been impressed into the Zembabwei army, where the meals were regular and where even a few Hyborian coins were doled out on occasion. He had agreed on this mission for King Abenzi because of the amount of gold he had been promised, and no other reason. One half of that promised gold had already been paid, and rested in Wulf’s saddle bags, the rest would be paid when he returned the slaves.

There were the cracks of whips, and the wails of the chained! The slaves were being driven towards the beach, where a line of ships were drawn up. The screams were shrill, as the blacks yelled their anger at the slavers who drove them towards the line of low boats that awaited their cargo. Most of the slavers were also black, and of mercy in them there was none. Infants were torn from their mother’s grasp, and thrown into the sea. The wails of the mothers were awful, as the infants perished in the shark infested waters.

Wulf, who was from a land where life, especially that of children was cherished as a gift from the great god Woden, who breathed life into them at their birth, along with the will to strive and slay, was aghast! He would punish these destroyers of life.

“Ho dogs!” he shouted gustily, raising his sword. His men, Zembabwei blacks to a man, looked to him for their orders. He spurred his horse forward, shouting “Slay them, dogs!” And then a black tide, led by a dark maned giant on a white Afguhli horse, spurred forward from the hills behind which they had hidden, and along the sand towards dusky Afghuli tribespeople that swarmed over the beach with their slaves in tow.

Afdahl, the lean, hawk faced leader of the slavers, wheeled his horse about in surprise. He was on a routine trip, expecting nothing but a few score slaves, and a payday at the end from Kemetish merchants, who always were in want of slaves, both for labor, and also as sacrifices to their serpent god Kos… But here was a small army of raiders, set on robbing him of his recently acquired merchandise- he felt aggrieved, since he had lawfully stolen these slaves for his own to sell.

“In line, in the name of Akbar!” he shouted. He tore his curved tulwar from his scabbard, as did his followers, black and brown, and went to meet Wulf’s raiders. The two lines of men, one a brownish horde, the other black except for their leader, flew towards one another. Wulf hit the line like a cannonball, knocking over the horse of Akbar, and sending the leader flying. His blacks flew past him, slashing and stabbing with ferocity, but also with a practiced precision unheard of in these climes. For Wulf had trained his men in the ways of the western military, and their disciplined precision, coupled with their native ferocity, proved invulnerable to the untrained desert wildness of their opponents.

Wulf, leaping from his steed, approached Afdahl on the run, waving his straight broadsword in circles as he advanced. Afdahl raised his tulwar scarcely in time, as Conan’s sword leapt down, and barely parried the blow. Afdahl was reckoned the “Pride of Akbar” among his people, a prince among practiced swordsmen, trained since youth to fight by the sword. Many were the men he had disemboweled with that curving sword, aye, and women and children too! He prided himself on his mercilessness, and often were the times he had sported with western “infidels” before spilling their entrails as an offering to Akbar…

But this was different- this westerner, and a barbarian he was as well by his alien aspect, was something he had never encountered before! Hundreds of battles, always he had won, and always controlled as they unfolded, but this- again, and yet again the steel of the two swords clashed, and Afdahl had no time to collect his wits, to regroup and use his sword craft to control the battle, to slow things down. ‘It is like fighting a panther, my Akbar!’ were his last thoughts, as the straight steel sword of Wulf finally swung awfully down, severing his mailed head from his lean body.

Shaking the sweat from his face, Wulf looked about him, blue eyes blazing. His black troops were putting the last of Afdahl’s slavers to the sword, as the slaves they had come to collect huddled about near the water, as far from the battle as they could get. Wulf walked towards the cowering slaves, men, women and babes as he sheathed his sword.

“By Woden, I have had a bellyful of slavery since I wandered into Zembabwei, and this is about enough!” he bellowed to the slaves, and also to his own men. “Men should not own other men and women, and I should have stood up for it before now. I was hired to take all of you back to your masters,” he said, indicating all of the slaves with a sweep of his arm, “but damn Yafar and all his type! You’re all free, so go!” he said in a booming voice.

A slim black girl approached him, timidly. She was a beautiful version of her type, with a tall, rangy build and regular features. The only thing marring her young body were the stripes of the lash across her back. “Sir,” she said, “we thank you for your help, but we had better just go back to Zembabwei. Better our old masters that we know- we know nothing of free life- we would just be captured by another group of slavers! At least we know our life in Zembabwei…” The other slaves were nodding, heads bowed in submission to whatever fate would be granted them.

Wulf scowled. Slavery was not even a legend in his own land. Men and women were expected to strive and slay; this is what the Germania god Woden breathed into each of them at birth. To try to enslave such a people would be a quick, sure suicide!

He thought a moment. “I and my men will escort you to a place I know. It is uninhabited, except for wildlife, and unknown to most even in the black kingdoms- I myself found it as I wandered through, and noted its fertility and remoteness. I will never sow and reap wheat; not while there are other crops I can reap by my sword, but for you folk I believe it would be ideal. You can live together as equals in a tribe, as my people do, and elect your own chief! It is the most elemental, pure form of government, and does not rely on slaves and serfs. Now, men,” he addressed his soldiers, “strike their chains!”

All of the heretofore slaves, and also those who were led by Wulf, gazed upon him in disbelief. Always many had been slaves, and even Wulf’s dark soldiers were scarce more than serfs, serving the king, and his nobles. Even the soldiers appeared interested in the northerner’s proposal- their own land, where they were reliant only upon themselves and one another… the thought captured their imagination. As Wulf spoke, his soldiers struck the manacles from the limbs of the freed slaves.

“But oh, sir,” interjected one strong looking black youth, “what is to prevent King Yafar and his nobles from coming after us?”

“And more important still,” interjected an older man, with shots of grey throughout his wooly hair and beard, “what would save us from the witch Harun?! The slave population all gasped in horror at this name being uttered, and one older woman fell to the ground in despair, beating her hands on the bare earth.

“You cross each bridge as you come to it!” shouted Wulf. “Devils and demons, soldiers and kings- they are all the same. All can be killed with naked steel, just so your will be strong and you stick together. Woden’s beard, this is a chance I’m giving you- take it or not, live or die- it’s all the same to me! I’ll lead you to this land, and those that want to be free can follow; the rest can go back to slavery and bondage, or come to live like men.” And with that, he mounted his horse, and slowly led the way into the jungle. After a pause, every single person, slaves and soldiers, followed after him, matching their horses paces to that of the walking ex-slaves, who were now free of their chains.

The noises of the leafy fastness about them, the slaves that were now pilgrims marching towards a promised land began to sing. They sang in time to their marching feet, they sang in joy of sudden freedom, and they sang in praise of a white-skinned barbarian who had appeared from a far off land to give them liberty.

The Treachery of Yafar

Late into the evening marched the group led by Wulf. Finally, he motioned that they should all stop, and his soldiers set up camp. Most of the slaves were younger women, since that was what was wanted by the Egyptians, which is what Wulf’s people called them, and the soldiers seemed very interested in making their acquaintance.

Jamba, Wulf’s appointed second in command, addressed his leader. “Wulf, think you that a tribe like this can become a nation one day?” He looked often to his commander, struck with wonder at his audacity. He knew of Wulf’s unconquerable ferocity in battle, and of his masterful leadership of men, but to disobey a whole kingdom, and wander off to start another… it boggled his brain.

The Germanian looked over at Jamba approvingly, with his hard ebon limbs and well sharpened spear held firmly in his grasp. “Jamba, I don’t want a nation to start here, there is far too much civilization around already! I want to start a tribe, a small group that will live by its own rules, decided by them by themselves, where one man, or one woman, is one vote.”

Jamba looked about, at the group of people all sitting about a large communal campfire, laughing and talking. Some of the soldiers had left in small hunting parties, and others were erecting rude huts of branches and thatch. A small stream was near the camp, and wooden bowls of sorts were formed to carry water. He seemed surprised, these folks had barely escaped slavery, and were already cheerful and full of hope. Wulf eyed him narrowly. “What you are seeing is freedom,” he said. “Hope and freedom are really the same thing; a rich slave can never truly be happy, but a poor man with freedom always has hope! These are not my people, nay, I’m from a land of gleaming ice, dark forests and craggy mountains, but I mean to help them become their own version of Germanians, here in this land of simmering heat and steamy jungle.”

Among Wulf’s troops was a man named Yafar. Black like all the rest, Yafar was an acolyte of Harun, the evil sorceress of Zembabwei. Along with Abenzi, the king of Zembabwei, Harun was his “enforcer”. Harun, a dusky demonic sorceress, was more accurately termed a witch by the people of Zembabwei, and was the real power behind the throne. Even Abenzi feared her greatly, while still glad to have her power behind him.

Yafar, pushing back the folds of his kefti upon his helmet, gazed at a small black stone within his dark hand. Strangely for a stone, it was perfectly round, and strangely luminous. Lagging back from the main troops, he watched as a figure slowly took shape within this stone globe. The face of a woman appeared, with glossy black, straight hair, and a complexion of purest white. Her bright green eyes gazed out at him with an awful interest.

“Well??!!” she queried. “Are the slaves on their way? What is the delay??!!” Yafar was tense, to not please Harun was… unpleasant.

“My queen,” he said “ the barbarian mercenary Wulf has intervened- he has taken the slaves meant for Stygia and the black kingdoms, and freed them! He himself is leading them into the jungle, and plans to carve out a country in which they can live.”

There was a long pause, during which the eyes of Harun dilated horrifically within the globe in Yafar’s hand. Shots of brightest yellow glinted within those eyes.

“Take you this small globe you hold- put it within the tent of Wulf tonight! Let him see you not, nor suspect, or death will be your fondest wish!” she hissed. Harun looked out almost with affection towards her slave Yafar, but with witch lights gleaming in her eyes. Yafar quickly agreed, and placed the small globe back within a pocket in his robe with a shaking hand.

Wulf had a large tent erected for himself. There were several other tents as well, enough to house his band of warriors. A number of rude huts had been built for the recently freed slaves, who had sung and laughed as they labored. Many a soldier happily helped the many young women of the slave camp, and soon a rough little city was formed in the jungle. A fire was blazing in the center of all of this, with a boar roasting on a roughly fashioned spit.

Wulf stood with his arms folded across his mighty chest, flanked by his lieutenant Jamba, and a lean black with a scarred face and a white kefti draped over his helmet, named Yafar. Taking a mighty draught from a large flask, he then handed the flask to Jamba. “Nothing compares to a roaring fire, roasted meat, and a hearty flagon of wine!” he said to his men.

“Maybe one other thing, my lord,” said Yafar, looking meaningly at a young woman who sauntered nearby. He smiled, and took his turn at the flask. Wulf abruptly tore the flask from his lips.

“These people are under my protection, Yafar! They are free to choose their mates, and none will force them to do anything, understand?” Yafar rubbed his lips ruefully where they had been rasped by the metal drinking flask, and looked downwards. He nodded. “All right then- we will say no more about the matter,” said Wulf. Then, taking the flask with him, he and Jamba went off to sit by the fire to get a platter of succulent pork.

Yafar, seemingly in a sulk, slouched off towards the tents. Slipping around the back of the largest, he snuck beneath the flap on the back, out of sight. High on a tent pole, he set the small round black stone. It seemed to move from time to time within his hand, and so he was glad to leave it here, away from him for once. He slunk out the back of the tent, and then headed towards the fire. He would get his revenge, tonight! He smiled in a way that was not pleasant.

Wulf was giving instructions to the people about the morrow. “If we march with a good will, we can reach the land I spoke of within a couple of days. It will be hard going, but so will your life be as free men and women! Slavery is evil, but it does provide food and shelter of a rough sort- in freedom, your sustenance will be up to you, and you alone. Anything given out for free results in a kind of enslavement, whether the recipient realizes that or not. So get a good night’s sleep, for we leave at daybreak.”

Heading back towards his tent, Wulf saw a young boy and girl, obviously brother and sister, heading towards a rude hut of branches. They had almost no clothing, and through the gaps in the shelter the barbarian could see there were no sleeping furs or even a thin blanket within. Stopping them, he spoke quietly, and then gestured towards his own tent. They smiled, the girl Abena, and the boy Oni- they would not shiver, toss and turn this night at least! Bowing, they entered his tent, and closed the flap.

Returning to the fire, Wulf related the incident to Jamba. “Hell, I can sleep in a snowstorm and be well rested- those two tender children can use the shelter better than I.” And, taking another long draught from the flask, he curled himself within his cloak and shut his eyes.

Just as Wulf relaxed into his cloak, preparing for slumber by the fire, Yafar stole surreptitiously towards the barbarian’s tent. Not having noticed that his leader had switched his tent with the children, and taken the campfire instead, he avidly stole towards it, wanting to observe. The “disrespect” Wulf had shown him, by yanking the drinking flask from his lips, still rankled him. He knew that Harun would not disappoint him in her vengeance, and he wanted to be there- to watch and gloat!

A few hours passed, the children sleeping in the tent amidst the sleeping furs spread over branches and fronds. Yafar dozed fitfully outside, impatient for the vengeance to be doled out by Harun. There was a flash of light from within the tent, and it fully wakened Yafar, who stole over towards the tent entrance flap. Slipping it open slightly, he peered inside-

A beam of green light shone out from the black stone, weakly illuminating the inside of the tent. Within that light, a form appeared, hazy at first, and then solidifying into reality. There stood a tall woman, lit only faintly by the pale green light. Of a beautiful aspect she was, with jet black hair, straight and long, with eyes of green like a cats, with evil motes of yellow. Her flowing garb was all of ebon, and in her hand she held a staff carved in the shape of a serpent.

With a slight motion of her hand, the inside of the tent lit suddenly, with a brighter light. At once, she saw that the tent contained two children, not Wulf, and she also saw the eyes of Yafar peering in through the flap. “You dog!” she hissed at him. “You have not delivered my prey to me!”

“Harun, my queen! I- ” But never did he get the chance to finish his utterance. With a contemptuous gesture, Harun simultaneously stamped her foot upon the ground. The sound seemed to draw him, and he found himself within the tent before her.

Yafar felt the vibration go right through him, and he suddenly thought he had never known just how tall Harun was. He had thought her only a little taller than himself, but as he gazed at her with terror-filled eyes, she seemed to rise far above him. And then, he noticed she kept getting taller and taller, her evil smile seeming to recede further and further above him…

Then, with a start of horror, he knew that- he was getting smaller. By the second, his stature shrunk, until he was scarce up to her waist, and then below her knee! He started to run, but by now he was the size of a mouse, and still shrinking. He screamed, but his voice was a small squeak, as he ran with tiny legs towards the tent opening, trying to escape. Then- with a sudden movement, Harun crushed her shrunken servant beneath the heel of her sandal. She looked towards the children, who had woken from their slumber.

“I shall have your blood, at least, this night,” she muttered at the two, who cowered on their furs. She raised her staff.

At this very moment, Wulf hurtled through the opening into the tent. His sword was raised, and his face was twisted into a scowl. He had seen the witch lights gleaming in his tent, and come rapidly to investigate. “What do you here?” he demanded of the witch. He did not question who or what she was, he had seen her in Zembabwei, and knew a witch when he saw one. To him, a witch was not a tool as she was to savages and civilized men- no, to him, one who used sorcery was one only to avoid- or, when they crossed him- to kill!

Harun raised her staff vindictively towards him, but at that moment Wulf crashed into her with all of his weight and momentum. Both crashed to the earth, and the barbarian raised his sword to strike, knowing that her unearthly sorcery must be stopped before it started. Lifting his sword above his head, he stabbed it down- directly at the witch’s heart.

There was a loud thud, and his sword sunk deep within the dirt floor of the tent. Harun had vanished- there was nothing there but his sword in the earth, and two whimpering children. Jamba ran into the tent, sword out, and heard him speak. “Woden!” he cursed.

Off to a Free Land!

The next morning, Wulf rose early after a short rest. Stretching widely, he looked down at the children, Abena and Oni, who had finally slept after being reassured by the giant barbarian and Jamba that the witch was really gone. Frowning, Wulf thought that a witch was never really gone, not while she lived. She would have to be dealt with, sooner or later!

A comely lass, brown wooly hair cut short, approached him with a wooden platter loaded with cold boar meat and cut up tubers and vegetables of some sort. Smiling in thanks, he grasped a large haunch for himself, and set the platter next to the sleeping children. He walked away, towards the campfire and his men, chewing voraciously as he went. The morning sun glinted amidst the thick jungle vegetation, and smoke rose from the early morning campfire. Many folk were already up, and beamed at him as he approached, white teeth shining against dark skin, happy to see their liberator. They did not yet know about the previous night’s visitor, and Wulf meant to keep it that way. Their superstitious dread would be their undoing were they to know too soon.

Abena woke, along with her brother Oni. Still in shock from the witch appearing in the tent the night before, Abena slipped from beneath the furs to stand in the tent. Her younger brother sat up slowly, and then reached for the food on the platter. Abena walked about, trying to get her bearings- the witch, the sorcery, the fight with Wulf- they all jumbled about in her young mind.

All at once, her eyes caught a glimmer of shining black- it was a small, perfectly round stone, set high upon a post within the tent. The stone seemed to call to her, she could not say how, but she coveted that ebon sphere! She reached up and grasped it, thrusting it within her girdle. ‘It is so beautiful,’ she thought, even as she felt it slightly move against her skin. ‘And it is mine!’ was her covetous thought. She meant to keep it secret, even little Oni could not know…

Wulf stood in the center of the clearing, next to the fire. Jamba stood beside him, his mail shirt of silver and scabbarded sword denoting his high rank in Wulf’s band. “Today, we leave for the land of which I have spoken. No king lives there, and no subject peoples- it is a fertile place, in a large valley, surrounded by steep bluffs and cliffs. I came upon it by chance, on a past journey, and noted it in my mind. To get there will be very difficult, as there is no ready entrance to this valley- only a Northern hillman such as I could have casually entered it, but with hard work and cooperation, all of you can have this valley for your own. There are wild cattle there, aurochs I believe, that can be hunted and later herded for meat and milk, and croplands in plenty for you to divide amongst yourselves. You may then elect your own chief, and live as free men and women!” A huge cheer went up from the group.

The men and women all worked together, breaking camp and loading up their meager belongings. Wulf’s men helped the young women, who were by far the largest majority, and before long the whole group was marching away towards their new, promised land. They sang as they marched, today again as yesterday, and they marched with a will. Only the two children, Abena and Oni, who Wulf had set on his horse’s back, remained silent and scared. But then, they had seen the witch, Harun, and they knew she was not done and would be back.

For three days, and three nights the pilgrims passed through the jungle. Spirits were good, since ample game was found by the soldiers hunting, and the women were successful in gathering large amounts of vegetables and tubers, berries and other fruits. This dense jungle seemed to be completely uninhabited by men. But, many were the screams of the big cats during the night, and the howling of the great apes that thus far had been unchallenged in these parts of the Nubian continent. But with the blazing of the fire each night, these monsters kept their distance from the flames.

On the third night, there was no moon. The pilgrims huddled closer than usual to the fire, on Wulf’s orders, since the darkness seemed to embolden the animals to venture closer to the camp of the humans. Young Abena had gone off to gather a few small branches, since she felt the fire was not bright enough. Only a few feet she had wandered from the circle of the fire-glow, when there was a whir from above. She looked up, dropping her few branches from her nerveless fingers as a huge snake descended upon her, fangs bared!

There was a flash before her eyes, and then a throwing spear transfixed the great reptile. It contorted, coiling hideously in pain, its entire length dropping from the tree from where it had attacked. Spasming, the great yellow eyes shining with pain and evil, the creature died.

Wulf stalked into the scene, and tore the spear from the dead snake. “I saw the creature from the fire- luckily, I grabbed Jamba’s spear and cast it, otherwise you would be dead right now!” He scowled at the girl, then continued, “The jungle is a dangerous place! When I say stay near the fire, I mean you should stay. Freedom comes with responsibilities, and alertness is one of them- now, go back to your brother.”

The girl scuttled away, sobbing, but alive. Jamba walked up, and Wulf handed him his spear, which he replaced in its belt holder. “You hard on the child,” he said. “But maybe hardness in speech, save her life in future.” The barbarian nodded, and the two returned to the fire as before. The snake was dead, but many more horrific wild creatures still howled and stalked in the ringing darkness.