CLOSE - CONAN
His face hardens, his eyes glint.
A FISHING LINE
plops into a Cimmerian lake long ago.
A falcon rustles its wings.
A girl opens her mouth to scream.
Porridge spills into the snow.
Horses’ hooves crash through ice, snow and underbrush.
Horses’ hooves thunder across the desert steppe in the gathering darkness.
THE FIRST MOUND
Twenty iron-plated riders, black against the sky, thunder over the mound and down around the others on either side...
CLOSE - CONAN
Several riders thunder by; one goes over.
THE FACE OF CONAN AS A BOY
watching the rider go over in slow motion.
CONAN
He steps out full into their path and swings with all his strength. There is a terrible METALLIC CLANG and splattering as the rider is cleaved from his horse...
RIDERS
They wheel and group, turn and charge back down the mounds again, howling and screeching with spears and swords glistening.
CONAN
He draws his sword, holding it across his face in the pit-fighter salute, then drops it behind him in position.
CONAN’S FATHER
The Master taking a similar position in the snow years before.
RIDERS
thunder down on Conan.