Tarzan had killed many men, but always justly. Conan resolved to be like his father in this way as in every other. But also in his heart he prayed that he never need kill again.
“Quite a place you got here,” marveled Oola, as Conan and Marna proudly took the new arrival on a tour.
“Our hearth fire is built over a shallow, bowl-shaped cavity cut into the limb,” explained Marna. “Conan lined it thick with clay, then flat stones. Here we cook, and on nights made cold by rain and wind, we have warmth, too.”
“And for kindling,” continued Conan, “we need only pluck dead branches.”
“And this?” asked Oola, pointing to several stretched and drying animal skins.
“We’ll need clothing,” explained Conan, “and moccasins.”
Oola smiled, impressed. “Your dad teach you how to cure hides?”
“Yes, ma’am
