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BRAN MAK MORN: THE LAST KING
by Robert E. Howard
(Del Rey, 376 pp., tpb, $15.95, 2005)

Robert E. Howard will likely always remain best known as the creator of Conan, but other bruisers reside in his gallery of mighty-thewed heroes. Writing for Weird Tales and other magazines of the pulp age, Howard tended to focus on these brawny characters one at a time, until he felt he'd exhausted their tales and they were shouldered aside by the next barbarian in waiting.

Bran Mak Morn is an exception, born of an intense fascination Howard had with the pre-Celtic people known as the Picts, which began in adolescence and continued to creep into his work until his suicide at age 30. As part of an ongoing roundup of Howard's works, Del Rey has gathered together all the Bran Mak Morn tales, along with a sizeable amount of supplemental material, into a volume that does the king and his creator justice.

In contrast to his other heroic fantasy, which despite its more visceral elements has a feel of lusty, freewheeling adventure, Howard brings weightier sensibilities to the world of his Picts. As the last king, Bran Mak Morn is a pureblood who knows all too well that he presides over a people who aren't merely descending into cultural savagery . their fall is genetic, as well. Yet he loves and defends them no less fiercely, with the collection's strongest story, "Worms of the Earth," showing the grim lengths to which he'll go to avenge the crucifixion of one of his subjects by the Romans who occupy their land.

With the Romans (cruel, arrogant Romans, at least) currently in vogue as movie and TV villains, some of these stories feel unexpectedly contemporary. In "Kings of the Night," Bran leads an uneasy confederation of allies who square off against a Roman army . but can only do so by meeting a seemingly impossible demand from one vital contingent. It's a beautifully orchestrated tale, complete with a nail-biting build-up, and should be required reading for anyone who aspires to stage his or her own fictional battle. Howard doesn't just deal with Bran as a warrior king, though, but also as a legend after his death. In "The Dark Man," a Gaelic outcast pursuing a group of Viking kidnappers gets some unexpected help from a venerated statue of the long-dead ruler.

Heroic fantasy this may be, but it has a strong touch of the horrific, and not just in the no-holds-barred combat and carnage. Like his contemporary and frequent pen pal H.P. Lovecraft (who makes a guest appearance here in a section of correspondence), Howard exhibits a fascinated loathing for degenerate races. He puts this to standard use in depicting the wretched humanoids of "Worms of the Earth," but it also shapes his vision of the Picts themselves, whose wiry Mediterranean bodies of antiquity have become thick and gnarled after generations of breeding with a less advanced race they conquered. One of the book's contemporary essays puts this apparent racism in context as having been rooted in science's prevailing genetic theories during Howard's day.

His work betrays its pulp origins in other ways. Howard dearly loved such words as "scantily" and "inscrutable," and he sometimes played fast and loose with history (Vikings fighting the Romans?). He had very limited use for women here, too; the only female characters of note are a repulsive witch, a kidnapped bride, and a headstrong but helpless little sister in a modern-era story still relevant to the Pictish theme. And if you can read a passage like this without snickering, you're a better person than I am: "[H]e stripped himself of his short leathern breeches. Then gripping his naked dirk in his teeth, he went into the water."

Still, for most of us, the overtly pulpy moments can't help but charm, in their way, and Howard wasn't nearly as prone as Lovecraft to letting his words run away with him. The man knew how to tell one rousing, engaging tale after another. These may be from one bygone age and about another, but they'll still grab you in the here and now.