The fifty-year-old comics magazine we’ll be looking at today leads off with a cover by fantasy painter Boris Vallejo that actually illustrates the issue’s lead story — something which wasn’t exactly unheard of with Marvel’s black-and-white comics of the 1970s, but wasn’t quite what you’d call commonplace, either.  About the only significant discrepancy between cover and story is that the young lady in Vallejo’s painting is depicted as wearing a little less clothing than the equivalent character drawn by John Buscema and Alfredo Alcala in the story’s version of this same scene… but it really is only a little less, as we’ll soon see. 

And now that I have the full attention of many (if not most) of you, let’s turn to the book’s inside front cover…

This frontispiece, an illustration based on Robert E. Howard’s Conan story “The Scarlet Citadel” (1933), is one of four such pieces by Richard Corben featured in the issue; we’ll have more to say about the artist, and the origins of this mini-portfolio, later in the post.

For now, however, we’ll move on to Savage Sword of Conan #4’s main, cover-featured attraction — an adaptation of another REH Conan yarn, “Iron Shadows in the Moon”.  This story, which is also known by the title under which it was originally published in the April, 1934 issue of Weird Tales, “Shadows in the Moonlight” (a phrase which, if you ask your humble blogger, practically begs to be sung to the tune of King Harvest’s one and only hit single) — and which can be read online in full for free here — may not be one of its author’s very best tales of his best-known creation; on the other hand, it does have the notable distinction of being the only Howard Conan story known without a doubt to have been at least owned, and probably even read, by J.R.R. Tolkien.  (Though since Tolkien’s copy of the story came by way of its inclusion in a 1963 paperback anthology called Swords & Sorcery, there’s no point looking for possible-if-highly-unlikely influences the story night have had on The Lord of the Rings, the three volumes of which originally came out in 1954-55.  Ah, well.)

Here are a couple of additional factoids that are probably of greater relevance to our present discussion: Marvel’s version of “Iron Shadows in the Moon” is, at 45 pages, the longest Conan story yet to appear in a single issue of a Marvel comic, beating out the previous record-holder, SSoC #2‘s “Black Colossus”, by nine pages; it’s also the very next Howard story after “Black Colossus” in the semi-official chronology of the hero’s career to which Marvel adhered (at least while writer-editor Roy Thomas was helming the franchise), which makes its adaptation here not at all surprising.  (For the record, the third issue of Savage Sword, which we didn’t cover on the blog, featured an original Conan adventure by Thomas, John Buscema, and Pablo Marcos, as well as an adaptation of a Bjorn Nyberg short story by Thomas and Tony DeZuñiga).

And that’s enough background, I think, at least for now…

As I mentioned earlier — and as I’m sure you’ve noticed by now — our story’s female lead, Olivia, is somewhat better clad in Buscema and Alcala’s renderings than on Vallejo’s cover.  What’s more interesting, however (at least to me), is that she’s afforded less body covering in both visualizations than she is in Howard’s original text, where she’s described as “a slender girl in sandals and girdled tunic”.  Even in the context of the Hyborian Age, I think can assume that a tunic should be defined as a one-piece garment providing coverage above, as well as below, the waist.

It’s an especially curious choice that’s been made here by Roy Thomas (who’d take full credit for it a few months later, in the letters column of SSoC #6), given that, having deciding to overrule REH in the first place by having Olivia depicted as topless in the story, the writer-editor proceeded to direct Buscema to draw her in such a way that her hair consistently falls over her nipples; something which may seem reasonable enough when she’s simply sitting or standing still, but is considerably less so when she’s running and/or falling, as indeed we see her do on these first two pages, not to mention later in the story.  One might question why Thomas felt the need to be so fastidious on Marvel’s behalf, seeing as how the company’s B&W books weren’t required to adhere to the Comics Code; and, indeed, a reader named Anthony Adams did as much in the aforementioned issue #6 lettercol, writing:

Dear Roy (and maybe John and maybe even Stan), I’m not necessarily for nudity in comics, but man. hair don’t hang like it did in SAVAGE SWORD OF CONAN #4.  Furthermore, it’s ticklish!  So, if you HAD to give Olivia bare breasts, they should’a been BARE.

To which Thomas replied:

Sorry about that long hair, Tony (if we may be so familiar).  Maybe Roy should’ve left well enough alone (since ’twas he who, as editor and writer, asked John to treat Olivia in that way all thru the book), as he wasn’t about to risk offending any Standards of any Local Community if he could help it.  But he couldn’t help wanting to see if Big John could pull it off-and most of our readers seem to feel. he did.  As for the next step — well, we’re ready any time the Supreme Court is, but frankly, we figure it’s going to be a while. More’s the pity.

This is the second occasion in recent months where we’ve come across someone at Marvel alluding to the Supreme Court’s then-recent landmark decision on obscenity and community standards as a reason for self-censorship in the company’s black-and-white titles (the previous time, it was writer Steve Gerber in the letters column of Tales of the Zombie #10, explaining why he’d decided to tone down the sexual content of a story that ran in issue #8).  It’s a fascinating reflection of the times, particularly in retrospect, given that mainstream American comic books of both the color and black-and-white varieties seem to have largely flown under the radar of would-be censors during this period (though we should note that the Supreme Court’s decision is commonly understood to have had a significant chilling effect on the contemporaneous underground comix scene).  Perhaps the prudence of Marvel’s editors and writers actually paid off in the long run, though that can ultimately only be a matter of speculation; it’s also worth noting that the publisher wasn’t completely consistent on the subject of female nudity in this era (Exhibit A: the reprinting of Frank Brunner’s “Smash Gordon” parody strip in Unknown Worlds of Science Fiction #1, which came out in October, 1974.)  And did Marvel’s main competitor in the B&W magazine market, Warren Publishing, tone down its content in Vampirella, et al, in the wake of Miller v. California?  I wish I could tell you, but your humble blogger was buying Warrens only very occasionally during this period (and Vampirella not at all); if anyone out there has more knowledge to share, I’d love to hear it.

But enough about nudity!  (At least for now.)  Rather, let’s return to our narrative, just in time for this magazine’s titular star to make his entrance…

As with the element of semi-nudity discussed earlier, our storytellers show a fair amount of restraint in the area of violence; save perhaps for that one panel of Conan’s sword chopping into Shah Amurath’s shoulder, there’s really nothing in this scene that couldn’t have also been shown in Marvel’s Code-approved Conan the Barbarian color comic.

Olivia and her rescuer set off together in the boat, and before long, she asks him about himself.  He identifies himself as Conan, a Cimmerian, and verifies that he was with the Kozaks defeated earlier by Shah Amurath and his soldiers…

“Then… you came…”  Conan proceeds to explain how he came to be hiding in the reeds in the first place, telling Oivia how he was but one of five thousand Kozaki — or, as they called themselves, the Free Companions — who had “plundered impartially the borders of Koth, Zamora, and Turan“, until Shah Amurath had come against them with a force of fifteen thousand men…

Conan explains how only by breaking for the east was he able to reach the dubious shelter of the reeds, where he’d hidden until the Turanians finally stopped looking for survivors.  Earlier in the day he’d come across the boat, which he’d intended to take out onto the Vilayet Sea that night, under the cover of darkness; obviously, those plans have changed.  Olivia wonders where they can possibly find safe refuge, since, in her words “The Vilayet is a Turanian pond.”  Conan counters that assumption, saying: “Some folk don’t think so…”

After taking a few moments to wade back into the sea long enough to wash all the dried mud and blood off his body, Conan leads Olivia a ways into the interior, where they find trees laden with fruit — “better far than the stinking rats” he’s been subsisting on lately…

Conan charges into a thicket that lies in the direction whence came the stone, but finds nothing.  His attempt to hurl it himself results in its landing just a few feet away, leading him to conclude: “No man living could throw that rock across this glade.”  Cautiously, then, he and Olivia move further into the thick brush…

If you’re at all in sync with inker Alfredo Alcala’s aesthetic, then there are times while reading this story when you simply have to stop and gawp at the lush, beautiful detail of his renderings over John Buscema’s pencils.  A few pages back, Olivia’s dreamy vision of Conan rowing their boat across a starry sky provided one such occasion; now, the full-page splash panel that introduces the story’s second chapter offers us another.

After the two companions make their way out of the ruins, an unsettled Olivia suggests they take again to the boat; Conan, however, leads her in another direction…

Since they can’t put out to sea until the new arrivals — whoever they are — have finished their business and left, our fugitive duo will have to spend the night on the island.  Olivia suggests that they sleep where they are, on the crags, but Conan nixes that idea:  “There are… too many trees.”  Despite the young woman’s misgivings, they head back to the ruins to bed down there.

Conan settles down for sleep with his back to a pillar, certain that he will snap to full awareness at the slightest disturbance; meanwhile, Olivia stretches out beside him on a bed of leaves the barbarian has thoughtfully pulled together for her…

Conan didn’t see the statues begin to move, as Olivia believes she did — but being a barbarian, he’s not encumbered by “the natural skepticism of the sophisticated man”, and so he takes her story seriously.  After listening attentively to an account of her nightmare, however, he observes that, regardless of what Olivia may think she saw, they were not in fact pursued from the ruins by the supposedly-living statues.  “I’ve a mind to go back“, he says…

Only when they’ve reached a height where there are no trees does Conan come to a stop.  He sets himself to stand guard against their mysterious stalker, while the exhausted Olivia once again lies down to sleep…

Conan tells Olivia to stay well out of sight, while he goes down to confront the pirates.  He’s hopeful that they’ll allow him and his companion to join them; but if that plan proves unsuccessful, he warns Olivia not to reveal her presence to them until they’re gone, “for no devils on this island can be as cruel as those sea-wolves!”

Sergius of Khrosha never gets any kind of backstory at all in Howard’s original short story — not even the brief reference to an Ophirean prison stay that we have here.  Rather, he’s identified as simply being an old enemy of Conan’s, full stop.  Nevertheless, regular readers of Savage Sword of Conan had already made the character’s acquaintance, via his significant supporting role in issue #3’s lead story by Thomas, Buscema, and Pablo Marcos, “At the Mountain of the Moon-God”.  That story — a direct sequel to the preceding issue’s “Black Colossus” — related how Conan undertook to rescue King Khossus of Khoraja from an Ophirean prison.  Along the way he fell afoul of a rival effort to capture Khossus on behalf of the king of Koth — an effort headed by, you guessed it, Sergius of Khrosha.  Sergius unsuccessfully attempted to kill Conan by causing an avalanche; later, however, after being caught and thrown into an Ophirean prison cell himself, Sergius tried to make a deal with his rival, saying he’d cut the Cimmerian in on the reward he was expecting if Conan would free him and help him get Khossus to Koth.  Conan quite understandably responded by telling Sergius to go eff himself — a rejection Sergius didn’t take at all well (see panel at right).  So, yeah, they’re definitely enemies — but they’ve never actually met in battle, which means this fight could go either way.  (OK, not really, but you know what I mean.)

Some might wonder why Roy Thomas would go to all the trouble of writing Sergius of Khrosha into “At the Mountain of the Moon-God” in the first place, given how quickly he comes and goes in “Iron Shadows in the Moon”.  His doing so, however, serves to link two of Robert E. Howard’s stories together in a way Conan’s creator himself didn’t, which helps further the illusion that in following Marvel’s various Conan comics, we’re reading not just random stand-alone adventures, but rather, individual chapters in the hero’s life story… the Saga of Conan, if you will.  If you don’t happen to care about that sort of narrative texture (as Howard himself seems not to have cared much, if at all), Thomas’ using Sergius in this way does no harm; and if you do care (as your humble blogger did in 1974, and still does), it just adds to the fun.

A distraught Olivia can only watch as her protector is carried away by the Red Brotherhood… carried all the way back to the ruins, and then within.  She falls into a swoon (as one does, if one is a female protagonist in a Howard yarn, and doesn’t happen to be one of his relatively rare warrior-woman types); and by the time she awakens, the sun is low in the sky.  Cautiously, she looks again to the ruins…

I love the resolve that Buscema and Alcala have given Olivia’s expression in that next to last panel — enough that I figure I can forgive her the earlier swooning.

Olivia briefly noshes on some nuts and berries she finds growing among the foliage, but soon she has the unsettling feeling of being observed; and so she returns to her crag, where she continues to wait until darkness has fallen…

Stealing silently forward, Olivia lifts a dagger off one of the sleeping pirates, which she then uses to saw through Conan’s bonds…

With one arm and one leg, Conan strives to hold off the ape-thing, while with his other arm he plunges his sword into the creature’s chest, gut, and groin, over and over again…

Olivia wonders if there may be other man-apes on the island, but Conan thinks not; if there were, he says, the pirates would have been attacked as they tromped through the woods.  As it is, he thinks they should count themselves lucky: “Thank the gods, girl, that the beast’s lust for you was so strong he finally attacked us in the open.  Otherwise –”

It’s worth noting that in Howard’s short story, all of the action is described from Olivia’s point of view — which means that the horrific tableau shown here, including the violent death of the annoying Aratus, is never actually “seen” by the reader, but only learned of second-hand, at the same time and in the same way as Olivia and Conan.  Personally, I think that our graphic storytellers have made the right choice in taking some modest liberties with their source material, here.

Re-reading this story recently for the first time in many years, I had a reaction very similar to that I’d had while reacquainting myself with “Black Colossus” not long before; that being that while I still enjoyed the story overall, I found the climax unsatisfying in a way I don’t recall from my original reading either of Robert E. Howard’s story or of Marvel’s adaptation.  The fact that Conan himself never once goes up against the “Iron Shadows in the Moon” was a significant disappointment to me, this go-around; for me, at least, those animate statues were a lot more interesting antagonists than was the man-ape, of whose ilk I’d already seen Conan fight plenty, thank you very much.  Perhaps REH himself had little interest in the more supernatural aspects of his tale; indeed, he may have only included them in the first place to avoid rejection by Weird Tales, in whose pages horror counted for more than adventure  That seems a shame, given the eerie and evocative “origin story” the author contrived for the Iron Shadows, as related in Olivia’s dream; but, in any case, I can’t really fault Roy Thomas for what I perceive as the story’s flaws, given that he’s done no more than faithfully follow Howard’s lead.  And at the end of the day, the artwork of John Buscema and Alfredo Alcala is just so damn pleasing to my eyes that I can’t not forgive those flaws; naturally, your mileage may vary.

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“Iron Shadows in the Moon” might have been the longest single story yet to appear between two covers of a Marvel comic, but, even so, the 80-page Savage Sword of Conan #4 still had room for a couple of additional features; the first of those, which we’ve already gotten a taste of via the inside front cover, was “The Corben Conan”:

Richard Corben’s artwork had been appearing sporadically in Warren Publishing’s black-and-white comics since 1970, but I’d managed to miss all of his work for that company, at least as of December, 1974.  Still, I’m fairly sure he was at least on my radar, thanks to my comics-reading friend Ken Stribling.  I’d met Ken at our high school, and while he may have been a grade or two behind me, he was way ahead of me in terms of his knowledge and experience as a comics collector and fan.  It was through Ken that I first became familiar both with fanzines, like The Buyer’s Guide for Comics Fandom and Rocket’s Blast Comicollector, as well as with underground comix — especially the more horror/fantasy/SF-oriented stuff produced by creators like Vaughn Bodē and, of course, Richard Corben.

Speaking of Rocket’s Blast Comicollector (or, as everyone back then referred to it, RBCC), the people behind it produced other fanzines as well — and it was in one such, The Golden Age #7 (Winter, 1971), that Corben’s Conan illustrations had originally appeared.  (That fact helps account for the small copyright notices to “G.B. Love” and to “James Van Hise” that appear below the four illos; Love had been the editor and publisher of RBCC from 1964 to 1974, at which time Van Hise took over the operation.)

To be entirely honest, I don’t really recall what I thought of these illustrations when I first saw them, back in late ’74; I imagine, however, that I thought they were at least OK… though I’m pretty sure it took me at least another couple of years to really “get” Corben.  Anyway, I definitely like ’em now, in late ’24.

We’ll wrap up this look at Richard Corben’s Conan by noting that while Marvel would eventually get around to doing full adaptations of all of the Robert E. Howard stories on which these four pieces were based, at this juncture they’d only done one, “The Frost Giant’s Daughter.”  So, if you wanted, you could argue that Corben’s versions of “The Scarlet Citadel”, “The Phoenix on the Sword”, and “Queen of the Black Coast” were also the Marvel versions… at least for the moment, and a little while to come.

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The third and final feature in Savage Sword of Conan #4 is the concluding chapter of Marvel’s four-part serialization of Blackmark, the graphic novel plotted and drawn by Gil Kane (with an uncredited script by Archie Goodwin) that had originally been published in paperback in 1971.  As regular readers will recall, we covered the first two installments pretty extensively in our respective posts about SSoC #1 and #2.  But, seeing as how your humble blogger didn’t write a full post about SSoC #3 — and given that the four chapters of the serial tell one complete story — I feel obliged to offer a fairly extensive recap of the third chapter before moving on to the story’s climax.  (In other words, if you were expecting to get to the end of this rather lengthy post soon, you might want to go ahead and take that break you’ve been postponing.  Or at least pause your reading long enough to pour yourself another beverage.)

The first two chapters of Kane and Goodwin’s story had chronicled the conception, birth, and childhood of its eponymous hero, telling how, in the far-future, post-apocalyptic world of New Earth, a married but childless young woman named Marnie encountered the fugitive, wounded king of the Westlands, Amarix, who before he died contrived not only to aid her to conceive a son, but also to pass his extensive scientific knowledge on to that progeny, both through technological means.  Years later, however, a cruel warlord brutally killed both Marnie and her husband, Zeph, leaving their young son Blackmark to be taken into slavery.

With the third chapter, the story leaps forward more than a decade, to a time when Blackmark, now a grown man, has escaped the life of a slave and become, for a while, the notorious leader of an outlaw band — only to be captured and enslaved once more, this time by soldiers of Kargon, Amarix’s successor as king of the Westlands.

Upon learning the rebellious young slave’s identity, Kargon is prepared to have him executed immediately; but the despot’s young wife, Lyllith, convinces her husband that the condemned man would be put to better use in the gladiatorial arena, where he can at least provide them with some sport before his inevitable demise.  Kargon, aware of his queen’s penchant for gladiators — and also indulgent of her infidelities — easily acquiesces.  And so, Blackmark is consigned to the care of the gladiatorial overseer, Nephus, to be made ready for his debut in Kargon’s arena… a structure that has been built around a mysterious artifact of the times before the holocaust.  According to legend, the man who can free this silver ship from its earthly bounds is destined to become the king of the whole world.  Kargon knows that his predecessor, Amarix, had striven to learn the spire’s secrets, but without success; and though he himself disbelieves the legend, he has decreed that anyone who wishes can attempt to move it… though if they should fail, their life is forfeit.

Blackmark has as yet spent little time in training when Lyllith comes calling on him.  Confident in her charms, she’s shocked when, evidently for the first time ever, her object of desire unequivocally spurns her advances, telling her flatly: “You don’t frighten — or excite — me.”  He then turns his back and begins to walk away, driving the furious queen to order Nephus to bring him back.  But when Nephus lashes out with his whip, Blackmark turns the tables, pulling the overseer off his feet and then using his own lash to strangle him to death.

Blackmark is immediately swarmed by Lyllith’s guards, but although he fights valiantly, the odds are against him.  Before they spear him to death, however, the queen — who’s been thrilled by the spectacle, despite herself, orders him taken alive.  But Kargon, observing this scene, feels an unaccustomed twinge of jealousy; and so he seeks to ensure that his wife’s latest lust-object will have no chance to ever become more, by ordering that on the very next day, Blackmark will fight not another human gladiator, but, rather, “the FLAME LIZARD!”

Thrown into a cell, the battered Blackmark encounters a fellow prisoner named Balzamo — the very “wizard” (i.e., scientist) who, as friend and advisor to King Amarix, facilitated our hero’s conception (and accompanying mental enhancement) two decades before.  Balzamo recognizes Blackmark by his birthmark — identical to one that had been borne by his mother — and is exhilarated by the thought of what their meeting might portend…

The next day, Blackmark and Balzamo are thrust out into the center of Kargon’s great arena, whose stands are filled to capacity.  At first, Blackmark is prepared to go to his death stoically (he also offers to slay Balzamo ahead of time, so as to cheat their enemies, though the scientist wryly declines) — but then, looking up to the royal box, he sees that Kargon and Lyllith have been joined by a third figure… and though he can’t make out the features of the man’s face, he recognizes the ornate battle-helmet resting beside him as the same headgear that had been worn by the warlod that murdered Blackmark’s parents, years before.

Now, our hero desperately wants to live, simply so he can take his long-awaited vengeance on the hated warlord — though, of course, that matters not at all to the new enemy that, just moments later, is released into the arena against Blackmark and Balzamao — the Flame Lizard.

Blackmark is armed with a sword, but that weapon seems little use against the mutant reptiles scaly hide (not to mention its fiery breath).  Nevertheless, he conceives a desperate plan — though it takes the intervention of Balzamo, who runs in between the warrior and the monster as a diversion — to give him a chance to execute it.

While his ally tries to evade the Flame Lizard, Blackmark scales the huge bronze statue that stands next to the silver spire in the midst of the arena; then, leaping from its top, he plunges his sword into one of the creature’s eyes — and thence, into its brain.

As the Flame Lizard convulses in its death-throes, Blackmark leaps to safety — then, once the beast is still. he pulls his sword free from its lifeless head.  For a moment after wards, there is silence…  and then, the cheering begins, starting at the topmost of the stands, where the poorest are seated, and only growing in volume as it filters down, towards the royal box…

And now, the conclusion:

 

As we noted in a previous post, along with the writing assistance of Archie Goodwin, Gil Kane also enlisted the aid of Harvey Kurtzman and Neal Adams in completing the artwork for Blackmark.  I wouldn’t presume to guess at where the former’s contributions might appear, in this or any other of the story’s four chapters… but if Neal Adams didn’t have something to do with that first panel on the page directly above — the one that shows Kargon leaning down over the box railing — I’ll eat my loincloth.

Taking the sword from its case, Blackmark is first impressed by the long, perfectly-balanced blade, which he can easily imagine weaving “arabesques of razor-edged death through any foe’s defense”…

Kargon manages to reach the main hall of his palace, where he surrounds himself with the elite soldiers of his personal bodyguard, the Scarlet Shields.  But before the hall’s huge doors can be securely bolted shut, Blackmark smashes his way within.  The king offers a hundred gold pieces to any soldier whose blade marks the rebel leader, a thousand more to any who can take his head…

As I observed in my remarks on this graphic novel’s second installment in Savage Sword of Conan #2, the basic narrative elements of Blackmark aren’t at all new — even from the perspective of half a century ago.  But the execution of these familiar tropes by Gil Kane and his collaborators is so masterful as to all but make originality beside the point, at least for this reader.  And with this final chapter, they’ve stuck the landing decisively, concluding their hero’s first adventure in a satisfying manner while still leaving significant matters unresolved — just the kind of thing to make sure readers come back for the next one.

And there would be a next one — though it wouldn’t be appearing in Savage Sword.  The second graphic novel in Bantam Books’ projected paperback series, The Mind Demons — which was written and drawn, but never published — would instead appear in SSoC‘s new companion magazine, Kull and the Barbarians, with its first chapter showing up in that title’s second issue, published in May, 1975.

Or at least, that seems to have been the plan.  Unfortunately, the third issue of KatB — which didn’t include a chapter of “Blackmark” — was the last; and instead of the serial picking back up in SSoC, as one might expect, the remainder of the story remained unpublished until February, 1979, when the complete (and also heavily reformatted) Mind Demons was released as the 17th issue of the black-and-white magazine Marvel Preview.

Unfortunately, although your humble blogger did buy Kull and the Barbarians #2 in ’75, he somehow missed picking up Marvel Preview #17 when it came out, almost four years later.  (In my younger self’s defense, it was the second semester of my senior year in college, and I had a lot going on.)  As a consequence, we won’t be dealing with the second volume of Blackmark on this blog, alas… though, if you’ve enjoyed the presentation of the first storyline here, I do recommend checking it out (either in its Marvel Premiere back-issue form, or in Fantagraphics Books’ 2002 “30th Anniversary Edition” printing of both graphic novels together, in a format closer to what Kane and co. originally intended than what was provided by Marvel, in any of its releases).  I won’t try to convince you that it’s quite as good as the first one (it’s not) — but Kane’s artwork is terrific, and (at the risk of 45-year-old spoilers), Helmet Guy finally gets what’s coming to him… and you wouldn’t want to miss that, would you?