Argon’s Other Eye 3 – Demon in the Mercenary Sorcerer’s Eye of Skelos!

“Her black hair was so high-piled that he realised its glossy sheaves must be wrapped around a cone of some sort, perched atop her skull... A carcanet of gold wire, cloth of gold and what seemed to be a million pearls surrounded her covered her upper chest. Its bi-lobate lower curves were carelessly trapped in a bandeau of white silk that revealed the flesh tints within. Her great heavy girdle was also jewelled, and supported a long and voluminous skirt of pale yellow, shockingly side-slit...”

Perhaps you’re thinking that the above is a quote from Ye Olde Aquilonian Vogue, or an excerpt from What The Well-Dressed Cimmerian Who Likes Putting On Ladies’ Clothes And Why Shouldn’t He Is Wearing, you’d be wrong. It is, in fact, a brief paragraph taken from ‘Conan The Mercenary’, a book by the subject of this episode of Argon’s Other Eye, Andrew J. Offutt. I read a piece by a (female) writer once who was of the opinion that the author of a particular bit of porn must have been a woman because of the immense amount of detail that had been put into describing the clothing of the lady participants. Going by that, Andrew J. must be, like, 7 convents’ worth of lesbian vampire nuns. He isn't, of course, or rather wasn’t, since he’s sadly no longer with us;  I’d like to think that that description would cause him to do whatever the opposite of spinning in your grave is, though.

So far as I can tell, AJO, God-Emperor of Humanity, only worked on a couple of Conan books; he also wrote a number of sexy Sci-Fi stories for Playboy books, created Shadowspawn for the Thieves’ World series, had a character called Cormac MacArt (described as being ‘In the tradition of Conan’, only super Celtic, one assumes; as a side note, anything In the tradition of, Inspired by, or even tagged as being by the same publisher as Conan, as one not-very-good book I read was, is fair game for this blog, so BEWARE, CORMAC) and produced a bunch of other novels and edited a good few anthologies, too, which I’ll pass over for the time being.

My favourite thing of his, however, is the War of the Wizards trilogy, even if I’ve only read the first two parts. These follow the adventures of a buxom redhead pirate called Tiana, trying to find her kidnapped twin brother, reassemble a wizard and prevent various calamities which threaten the WHOLE DAMN WORLD. The aforementioned lesbian vampire nuns appear in vol. 1 (strictly speaking, nothing’s mentioned about them being lesbians, but I bet that particular bit was cut out by the editors, blast their eyes), as do a blistering series of adventures which continue throughout the two novels - sword fights , foiling villainous plots, narrow escapes from being sacrificed, eaten alive, etc., all with a female protagonist who has no trouble thrashing the opposition and frustrating their knavish tricks, sometimes while wearing (not very many) clothes, sometimes not, according to the God-Emperor’s whims. While his language isn’t as OTT as, say, Lin Carter’s, Andrew certainly does pay a great deal of attention to his descriptions of the female form, and War of The Wizards gives him ample (tee hee!) opportunities to do so.

“Great standing breasts, large and firm as melons”

“Short britches molded and revealed her luscious formations”

“Flaunting her deep full chest with arms akimbo”

“Tiana felt warmth in her leather-clad bottom, and it was pleasant”

“...the rounded thighs crowding her snug short breeks, the full perfect breasts so displayed”

“...the jiggle and bounce of her half displayed bosom”

You get the idea. Evidently, AJOGHOH really liked writing about boobs; luckily, I really like reading about ‘em, so that’s fine. I wonder who first coined the phrase ‘bi-lobate chest’, Mr Offutt or Robert Jordan, too; on the face of it, bosoms that resemble a huge pair of ears don’t really sound that appealing, but apparently it just means ‘divided into two lobes’. Enrich your word power the Cimmerian way.

Andrew’s Conan books are pretty superior, to be honest, massive amounts of sex withstanding – he doesn’t treat the man himself as a braying lunk who just slaughters everything in his path, which is always a temptation for the pressed-for-time S&S author. I do have a load of the Thieves’ World books, too, which I did like a lot – I may deal with those at a later date, although they’re slightly outside my pulpy remit. What I will get ahold of, 2^nd hand price tag of nearly £13 notwithstanding, is Ardor on Aros, a Sword & Planet adventure which is (apparently) the first to feature overt sex. Gor was a bit of a letdown for me, but I trust the God-Emperor to succeed where Wonder Norm failed.

His son, Chris Offutt, revealed in a blog post (which, sadly, I can’t find) that Andrew used to recite his stories to the kids to keep them entertained during long car journeys, with Mrs. Offutt giving him a gentle slap when things got too lively for impressionable young minds. Certainly whacks the kak out of ‘The Wheels on the Bus’, doesn’t it, especially if he started off with (say) Satana Enslaved...

Well, that’s your lot. Happy new year, and I’ll return in January with a juicy big dollop of Thongor for you.

Argon’s Other Eye Part 2 – Kothar: Barbarian Swordsman!

This week, we are intimately examining Kothar. Rubber gloves on! Kothar, in the grand tradition of mighty fantasy heroes with names beginning with a ‘K’ or ‘C’, is a savage wolf of a warrior from the frozen Northlands, Cumberia to be exact; Barrorowrow in Furnernernerness to be even more exact. He is a creation of the great Gardner F. Fox, and a totally original creation, too, or my name isn’t Howard E. Roberts.

Gardner started work in comics (actually, he seems to have started work as a lawyer – I am not honestly sure how he ended up moving from legal practice to writing Superman stories, but there you are) and seems also to have written a fair number of intriguing-sounding works, according to this biog, which my usual hours of painstaking research have somehow managed to tease out of the archive.  Five Kothar books, four Kyrik books (we’ll return to Kyrik later), numerous other sci-fi one/two shotters and number of slightly odd-sounding books in a series called ‘Lady from L.U.S.T’. L.U.S.T., apparently, stands for ‘League of Undercover Spies and Terrorists’ and the books themselves are full of late ‘60s wholesome spy-themed porny goodness, by the looks of things. I am determined to get hold of a copy of ‘The Hot Mahatma’, come what may, but getting back to the subject, this particular part of his oeuvre came about thus.

Gardner was sitting in his office, rubbing his hands up and down his flared nylon slacks and giving his secretary electric shocks, when the phone rang. It was his editor at Belmont books, who said ‘Hey, Fawx! Gimme five t’ousand woids on Koh-nyaaan!’ (that’s how people speak in New York), so Gardner, pausing only to smoke a pipe and have a belt from the bottle of Jameson’s in his desk draw (or possibly munch a handful of goji berries and fire up the mindfulness app on his iPhone for a couple of minutes), got down to it and gave him five thousand goddam words on goddam Conan.

While the result is... kinda derivative (actually, more than kinda – there are several bits that I’m pretty sure have been ‘adapted’ wholesale from Conan stories), Gardner certainly knows how to put together a story, and does it without any mucking about or thesaurus molestation, unlike some other authors I could name. His hero gropes tavern wenches, chops people’s limbs off and goes up against the obligatory sexy sorceress in a series of thrilling adventures, nicely paced and full of blood-soaked, furry-kilted action, and is also kind to his horse.

Kothar does appear on the famous Appendix N list in the original AD&D DMG – the lich in the first story must have been an influence, as others have pointed out, and there are also animated skeletons, healing powders/potions and so on. One main difference is that Kothar cannot keep any of the treasures he (inevitably) wins because of a curse that’s been placed on this sword. Try doing that in your game and expect to be defenestrated by your players at the end of the session. They might be mollified if you gave them the chance to pinch an imaginary waitress’ bottom instead of receiving a king’s ransom in equally imaginary gold coins; probably not, though, unless you’re running a particularly hairy-palmed campaign.

This book is therefore recommended to you – it’s cheesy, fun and doesn’t take long to read. Make sure you skip Donald McIver, Phd’s introduction

The next bumper holiday edition of Argon’s Other Eye will be an ANDREW J. OFFUT SPECIAL!

Argon’s Other Eye 1 – Prisoner of the Horned Helmet!

As the title of this blog suggests, this particular story is our lord and master and we must sacrifice opaque nosed harlots (with stringy orchid hair) to it as often as circumstances permit. Alternatively, sacrifice it to opaque nosed harlots; if the card  Madam Flaybuttock has in the telephone box reads ‘All CCs and Eye of Argon accepted’, then rejoice, rejoice, for a whole new world of excruciating delights is now YOURS.

Anyway, if you’re sitting comfortably (probably not, if Madam has been doing her job properly), I’ll begin.

Prisoner of The Horned Helmet (or to give it its full title, Frank Frazetta’s Death Dealer Book 1: Prisoner of the Horned Helmet) is a novel by James Silke, with the picture of the same name (also a Molly Hatchett album cover and something to do with the US Army’s 4^th Infantry Division as well) on the back cover. Extensive and painstaking research on my part appears to suggest that James Silke is a comic/pinup artist (i.e. typing his name into Google brings up a slew of pictures of semi-clad women, which is better than bad. I would quite like to read ‘Bettie Page: Queen of the Nile’, as well). Like the fantastic Gardner F. Fox, who also worked in comics, I think this lends a certain flavour to his work.

Overall, Prisoner... has all the classic elements - a hulking great barbarian hero (Gath), evil cultists, sexy sorceresses and so on. The baddies are Kitzakks, unstoppable fantasy-Mongol slavers (boo!) and problem solvers in the service of the Butterfly Goddess (as in the old WW1 marching song, ‘Pack Up Your Troubles In Your Old Kitzakk). Not the most intimidating of deities, on the face of it, but luckily, there’s a Lord of Death as well, who the sexy sorceress works for. There’s also a Wheel of Time style gleeman and a 17 year old trainee complementary medicine practioner (Robin), who acts as the female love interest, when the barbarian can tear himself away from the sorceress. And (not that I want to give up too much plot specific info, but...) yes, there is a horned helmet, and yes, someone does end up as its prisoner, as you might reasonably expect.

The names are odd. A warlord called Klang? A priest called Dang-Ling of Bahaara? Two champions called Trang and Chornbott? Klang, at least, passes the ‘Kneel Before’ test (You are dragged, your hands bound and your recently-inflicted wounds still dripping blood, into the fetish-festooned yurt of the Nomad King. Your guards shove you forward, laughing and cursing as you stumble across the floor, then swing their spear-shafts into the back of your knees, knocking you to the ground while yelling ‘KNEEL BEFORE...’). ‘Kneel Before Klang’ works; ‘Kneel Before Keith’ wouldn’t, unless you’re writing a different sort of story entirely. Overall, the effect is somewhat like being trapped on a world where everyone names themselves using filler words in doo-wop songs (Rama-lama Klang Dang Ling of Bahaara!). Plus the three gleemen – Brown John and his sons Bone and Dirken, who sound like actors in a hopefully illegal 70s gay porn film.

Speaking of which, this is one of those books where, if you’re female, you will end up with no clothes on at least twice per chapter. We learn, fairly early on, that the sorceress has breasts like soft prisoners, yearning to break free. Robin, on the other hand, has breasts as smooth and warm and plump as river washed pebbles. I have never seen a plump pebble; then again, I’ve never seen a soft prisoner either. I can’t imagine whispering ‘Oh darling, you have tits like pebbles’ in your beloved’s ear would be terribly popular, but I’m willing to put that to the test. Watch this space. There is also pubic hair based alchemy, which gives rise (snigger) to a fairly extraordinary passage where, having anointed their genitals with a magic paste to attract Gath to them (?!) Trang and Chornbott charge into battle radiating streaking spears of white light from an eerie glow at their groins. That rather puts me in mind of Old Gregg, which is probably not the effect that the author was after.

Also, this bit needs quoting in full (Tor books missed a trick by not adding italics and caps to the last sentence, so I’ve done it myself)

‘Gath stepped out of the enveloping darkness, like a sword drawn from a scabbard. He was darker than she remembered. More brutal. Hard dry scabs were turning into scar tissue. His fur loincloth bristled slightly in the breeze. A new suit of chain mail, his belt and a Kitzaak helmet were slung over his shoulder. A bright steel axe rode his right fist. His chiselled features were mottled with dark shadows, and wore an expression of dark invitation. To a bed of MURDER!!!!’

If you’re not paying attention, it’s all too easy to mistake Gath’s slightly bristly loincloth for your front doormat, say, but for goodness’ sake don’t go carelessly wiping your feet on a barbarian’s crotch, as it really isn’t safe.

Right. Public safety announcement out of the way. All in all, what with beds of murder, soft prisoners, glowing crotches and Brown Johns, I’m pleasantly exhausted, and there are four more books to go! Yippee!

Next time, either Kothar or an Andrew J. Offutt omnibus. We’ll see.