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.