When Xaltotun's black star had perished,
And midnight loosed its iron reign,
The towers watched in breathless silence,
Ashamed to speak the tyrant's name.
The marble halls of Aquilonia
Still breathed of blood and ancient wine.
The Dragon Throne outlived its masters,
Awaiting one of sterner steel.
No priest bestowed the sacred blessing,
No herald raised the victor's cry.
The naked sword proclaimed the monarch;
The wolf had come to rule, not die.
Black banners crowned the ancient ramparts,
Bronze trumpets split the frozen air.
Old kingdoms bowed like storm-struck cedars;
The Lion claimed the ancient throne.
Not born a king
The steel decreed.
Not crowned by blood
But by the deed.
The Lion Throne,
The northern flame.
The world remembers
Conan's name.
The jeweled crown weighed less than battle;
Its gold was colder than the snow.
He bore a kingdom on his shoulders,
Yet kept the Cimmerian soul.
The haunted vaults were sealed forever;
Forgotten gods returned to dust.
The age of dark sorcery ended
Before one warrior's will and trust.
The Phoenix blazed above Aquilonia,
Its scarlet wings consumed the sky.
Old empires broke like mountain stone;
Only the fearless never die.
Not born a king
The steel decreed.
Not crowned by blood
But by the deed.
The Lion Throne,
The northern flame.
The world remembers
Conan's name.
Beside him strode brave Zenobia,
Unbroken through the years of war.
No throne stood stronger than two souls
Who shared one crown forevermore.
When every bard has lost remembrance,
And oceans claim each fallen wall,
The stones of old Aquilonia
Will speak one name beyond them all:
"Here ruled the last true king,
Conan of Cimmeria."
Conan the king
Conan the king
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