The Savage Pitch of Conan

I went to a baseball game last night. Baseball games can be fun, but often for reasons entirely unrelated to the game itself. I can’t think of much to say about it though, so here’s some fan fiction.

***

“Now pitching for the New York Mets, Number 99, Conan Cimmerian.”

Conan strode unto the field, adjusting his slave cap to keep the oppressive witch lights from burning his eyes. Surrounding him the distance was a great crowd, the wealthy and influential, and beyond them the common masses. Though wealth and prestige separated the classes, they all came together like this night after night, thirsty for the blood of those gladiators who would surely die. Yet since his capture, none had died in this place. The rules of battle here were most peculiar, and filled Conan with an unflagging dread. Were they simply rousing the crowd to to the point of frenzy by teasing them with violence, or was there a more sinister ploy here? Conan knew not, and ultimately cared not. He would have his freedom tonight, one way or another.

His present role in these absurd gladiatorial games was simple enough to grasp. Using only a stitched orb packed with stuffing, he was to defeat the club-bearing man in the uniform of the opposite color. Conan’s predecessor in this battle was ill-prepared, and had failed to so much as strike his foe, let alone defeat him. No doubt this was the reason Conan was brought in. He knew that the jeering crowds demanded a show, and he would not disappoint.

Gripping the orb as he was instructed by the head slaves, all of whom were given the designation of “Coach”, no doubt to destroy their sense of self and thus deny any hope of liberty, Conan spit unto the ground and readied his weapon for the attack. In a moment’s hesitation, he wondered if such a puny thing could truly do any lasting harm to what were clearly seasoned gladiators. Perhaps the orb was woven with vile enchantments to destroy the flesh of the proud warriors it struck in battle? It did not matter in the end.

“Strike!”

Conan’s aim had been off. Despite the training regimen enforced by the slaves known as Coach, Conan still found himself uncertain with this weapon. Worse, he was fairly certain that the training was meant to hobble him, and prevent him from landing a hit on his foe entirely, but Conan the Cimmerian was not so easily fooled. If the monstrous serpent-men could be slain, then so could this poor fool with his wooden club.

With a mighty roar, Conan flung the orb with all his might, aiming right for his opponent’s head. The orb struck, shattering the pitiful protective helmet and knocking the club carrying brute off of his feet. Conan grinned in triumph, but his face soon darkened into a scowl as one of the Coach slaves began berating him. Conan could not tell why at first, but when he saw his foe get back on his feet and jog towards the white diamond on Conan’s left, he knew that he had failed.

Little matter; another enemy approached with another club. This time Conan would put his foe down for good. And then, freedom…

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4 Responses to The Savage Pitch of Conan

  1. RS says:

    Ha, pretty sure this is the first-ever Conan/baseball mashup. You’re a pioneer!

    Have you heard of Game of Thrones (the book series and/or the HBO adaptation)? I’ve never read or seen it, but I bet you would like it.

    • AJBulldis says:

      I have, but it tends to take an extraordinary amount of effort for me to actually start reading/watching something. Maybe someday.

  2. Alar says:

    I have to admit… this was highly amusing and entertaining.

  3. Pingback: AJBulldis’s Top Ten Posts Of 2011 « Bulldis in a China Shop

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