CONAN: You have my gratitude,
Tito, for the drink and the
hospitality.
You were far kinder
than I would have
been in your position.
TITO: We're peaceable
sailors, Cimmerian.
I have no love for the corrupt
courts of Argos.
You are welcome, although I
trust in a pinch you'll pull
an oar alongside my men.
CONAN: In a pinch, you'll need
my sword, not my crewing
abilities, such as they are.
This I pledge.
As long as I am aboard Argus,
you and your men are under my
protection.
TITO: Good enough.
That's Shem out there.
Rolling meadows.
Beautiful green lands.
CONAN: I see nothing.
TITO: Oh, it's there.
The position of the stars
tells me that.
The smell of the flowers
and the herds of sheep.
I make this haul some
50 times a season.
CONAN: I prefer to
travel by land.
TITO: By morning, we'll see the
River Styx and the black
castles of Khemi.
I'll steer a wide berth.
The sorcerers who practice their
dark arts on the beaches
are easily antagonized.
CONAN: The dark arts?
TITO: Human sacrifice.
Naked women strung up and
gutted like fish as they
worship the Snake God, Set.
CONAN: I see.
TITO: Truth be told, I am happy
to have you aboard.
The Western Sea is too often
an unfriendly place.
Tell me, have you
heard of Belit?
CONAN: My traveling has
been mostly limited to
the Northern Lands.
TITO: Belit is not a where.
Belit is a who.
CONAN: A woman?
MASTER STEERSMAN:
Indeed she is.
She captains the Tigris.
They call her the Queen
of the Black Coast.
NARRATOR: The master steersman
describes Belit as a scurge, a
plague upon the open seas.
Conan the Cimmerian hears
something different.
He hears of a fierce
daughter of Shem.
Slender, yet formed
like a goddess.
Her skin the color of milk.
Her hair like liquid ebony.
Conan hears of unrelenting
violence, a woman who knows no
mercy or empathy, who drives
her crew of men with the
unerring certainty that there is
nothing she can ask of them
that will not be instantly
obeyed.
He hears of the path
of pain and misery
her piracy has left.
Ships destroyed, and families
torn apart.
But mostly, the barbarian Conan
hears of a woman not
unlike the winged warrior
goddesses of the North.
The terrible bringers of pain
and pleasure that he, as a
youth, dreamed about.
Belit, this Queen of the
Black Coast, has
ripped Conan's heart.
And he has yet to realize it.
TITO: Conan, if I
may translate.
These men have lost three cargo
skiffs in as many days
to pirates.
CONAN: The Tigris?
TITO: So it seems.
Belit is in these waters.
I think we can be
sure of that.
TITO: Damn it all.
CONAN: What is it?
TITO: This is my livelihood,
Cimmerian.
I am compelled to seek trade
north of here to avoid Belit.
Yet I dare not show my face
or my ship within
twenty leagues of Argos.
CONAN: You are right, Tito.
Your Argos situation
is my fault.
TITO: I didn't--
CONAN: You did.
And you are correct
to remind me.
I have pledged to you my sword,
but that is not enough.
You have my life.
I offer it freely to you.
You point me in the direction
of this Queen of the Black
Coast, and I swear to you, on
my life, you will never fear
to sail these waters again.
TITO: Conan, for the love of the
gods, I will not ask that
of you, nor put it
upon my crew.
We're traders, working men, not
soldiers or mercenaries.
I am humbled by your oath,
Cimmerian, truly.
Take me further north,
to your lands.
We will slip past the Argos
patrols and trade with Zingara
and [INAUDIBLE].
Please.
CONAN: You ask me to run?
TITO: I ask you nothing
of the kind.
I will take you anywhere you
like to go and offer you my
thanks and eternal friendship.
But I cannot go to war against
Belit for you.
CONAN: In my years as a
swordsman, although limited in
number, I have learned
one important truth.
I respect your desire to
preserve your crew, Tito, but
it's the man most intent on
avoiding a fight who finds
himself stuck right in
the middle of one.
-Ship!
North, northeast.
-A merchant vessel.
Not that different from
the Argus, actually.
