Robert E Howard. Best known as the guy who created Conan, Howard was incredibly prolific as a writer, packing more stories into one short lifetime than most creators, myself included can get over in the full 3 score and 10. The man was a storyteller of the first rank, filling his tales with two-fisted heroes that always make for an enjoyable tale.
Now I, like the majority of Howards fans I’d guess am a die-hard Conan fan. It’s what I came to first and have always enjoyed the most, and I’ll make no apologies for that thank you very much. Coming up a close second is the dour ‘more John Wick than John Wick’ Soloman Kane. There’s just something about a revenge tale done right that is so damn satisfying, and Red Shadows delivers, in spades.
The one element in Shadows that really stands out for me is the genius use of the zombie, unlike anything that I’ve seen elsewhere. Howard has his Juju-man reanimate a corpse by leaving his own body and entering it, wearing the man’s skin like a puppeteer. Said zombie then kills a despot, winning freedom for himself and Kane. The description is tight, the atmosphere is contagious and the outcome … so satisfying.
Absolute genius.
Now the corpse was upright, swaying on stiltlike legs, body tilting far back until the sightless eyes seemed to stare straight into the red moon that was just rising over the black jungle. The thing tottered uncertainly in a wide, erratic half-circle, arms flung out grotesquely as if in balance, then swayed about to face the two thrones—and the Black God. A burning twig at Kane’s feet cracked like the crash of a cannon in the tense silence. The horror thrust forth a black foot—it took a wavering step— another. Then with stiff, jerky and automatonlike steps, legs straddled far apart, the dead man came toward the two who sat in speechless horror to each side of the Black God. “Ah-h-h!” from somewhere came the explosive sigh, from that shadowy semicircle where crouched the terror-fascinated worshipers. Straight on stalked the grim specter. Now it was within three strides of the thrones, and Le Loup, faced by fear for the first time in his bloody life, cringed back in his chair; while Songa, with a superhuman effort breaking the chains of horror that held him helpless, shattered the night with a wild scream and, springing to his feet, lifted a spear, shrieking and gibbering in wild menace. Then as the ghastly thing halted not its frightful advance, he hurled the spear with all the power of his great, black muscles, and the spear tore through the dead man’s breast with a rending of flesh and bone. Not an instant halted the thing —for the dead die not—and Songa the king stood frozen, arms outstretched as if to fend off the terror.
An instant they stood so, leaping firelight and eery moonlight etching the scene forever in the minds of the beholders. The changeless staring eyes of the corpse looked full into the bulging eyes of Songa, where were reflected all the hells of horror. Then with a jerky motion the arms of the thing went out and up. The dead hands fell on Songa’s shoulders. At the first touch, the king seemed to shrink and shrivel, and with a scream that was to haunt the dreams of every watcher through all the rest of time, Songa crumpled and fell, and the dead man reeled stiffly and fell with him. Motionless lay the two at the feet of the Black God, and to Kane’s dazed mind it seemed that the idol’s great, inhuman eyes were fixed upon them with terrible, still laughter.
Howard, Robert E Red Shadows
Oaken Heart 