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CONAN FIRST DRAFT AUGUST 1, 1978 SCREENPLAY BY OLIVER STONE BASED ON THE STORIES OF ROBERT E, HOWARD WITH LATER ADDITIONS BY L. SPRAGUE DE CAMP AND ‘LIN CARTER Oo e OPENING SEQUENCE: A MAP of present-day EUROPE, ASIA, APRICA, ANERICA...as the MUSIC THEME wells, the map starts to move and crumble - an ocean contracts, another expands; convulsions of the earth carve out new land masses, eradicate others, mountains rise, glaciers shift, wastes vanish beneath the waves...and the MAP of the ANCIENT KINGDOMS arises ~ Aquilonia, Nemedia, Cimmeria, Shem, Zingara, Vanaheim, Hyperborea, Zamora, Koth, Turan, Hyrkania, Stygia, etc., each dotted with their capital cities....MOVING CLOSER on CIMMERIA in the northeast region of old Europe, irising: INSIDE A HUGE FOREST - black and lonely, of massive depth ++eand silence - a world apart. ANOTHER ANGLE - cloud upon cloud piled on the banks of a moody, yellowish-black sky stretched over valleys roofed with green as: A SOLITARY WIND whispers down a masked slope, plunging into giant trees and deen-shadowed light, onto the softer SOUNDS of a STREAM flowing through dappled patches of sunlight onto the image of a BOY - CONAN - probing with a sharpened stick for frogs and crayfish in a POOL of clean icy water «+ethe silence enormous all around - A BLACK PANTHER nestles on a black boulder, speckled with green moss, its flank glistening in golden light as the sun sets low in the distance....the panther stirring, scenting something in the wind.... A DEER kicks - gone, through the leaves, half seen THE PANTHER - a beat. THEN: HUGE SOUND - as powerful HORSES ride directly at us - sweating, frothing, thumping - 30 HORSEMEN perched forward, fully armed with pikes, swords, lances, war axes. SILENCE - the boy CONAN, framed by the tall trees circun- venting the stream, reaches down and swings a hoop of dead frogs and crayfish over his shoulder ~ and goes off, a handsome youth of 13 with shiny black hair, big black eyes, and a wiry muscular body, in laced moccasins and scraps of wolfskin...now vanishing into the shadows of the trees, becoming one with them...silence. THEN: HORSE EYES - eager, terrified, cutting through the wind in @ symphony of SOUND THE RIDERS - closer to camera now, bunched in depthless long shot, and we see promiment in foreground - SEVERAL BLACK HOODED FIGURES ON BLACK HORSES, their countenances buried deeply inside their hoods, and ABOVE THEM WE SEE: FURRY VULTURE BATS flying low and all out, trying to keep up with the stallions in a thunder of cobbed wings and hooked talons, their eyes blood-shot red. CONAN now coming into his VILLAGE, down the main street ...smoking fires, logs, children playing, dogs, women toiling...a smaller BOY AND GIRL running up out of breath, in whispers. CHILDREN It's ready...hurry...hurry up, c'mon...! They tug, he follows. A DOG raises its gnarled old head at the entry to a BLACKSMITH SHED as CONAN, accompanied by the TWO CHILDREN, enters, glimpsing HIS MOTHER, a young, sensual image combing out her long flaxen hair in the waning heat of the sun. Now seeing him and throwing it back with a smile of acknowledgement. CHILDREN He's here! He's back, Father! VOICE (bellowing) Conan - come ere lad! CHILDREN Go! CONAN into the smoky INTERIOR OF A SHED...the clang of hammer on anvil, the blowing of bellows - fumes, heat, flame - and his FATHER in bearskin, his fierce eyes set in a hulking frame, his muscles bulging with blackened sweat, hammering a sword.... FATHER (gesturing impatient) Come. CONAN approaching closer, awed now, laying to rest his hoop of toads and crayfish...PAST THE APPRENTICES at the slag heap, HORSES pent in the shed, and a GROUP OF MEN from the village gossiping, now stop, look at Conan...eyes focusing on

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