I, who was born in a naked land and bred in the open sky.
The subtle tongue, the sophist guile, they fail when the broadswords sing;
Rush in and die, dogs—I was a man before I was a king.

Conan is testosterone, ferocity, and rage. Bursting forth from the pages of Robert E. Howard, his raucous and violent adventures are poetic yet barbaric. They speak to the soul and seize emotions. In short, they’re perfect for gaming.

This is a one vs. many design that could roughly be compared to Descent in structure. It’s scenario based skirmishes with narrative and empowering timbre. The setting is classic Conan, which means no Terminator but thrilling descriptions of jaw-breaking action. Howard’s fantastical writings persist as a fount of primal energy. Translating that intense action and boundless atmosphere to the table top is no small feat. Yet publisher Monolith has lived up to their name.

It was a very smart decision to keep the core system of Conan simple. The rules do an adequate job of conveying direct concepts of moving, attacking, and rolling dice. There are many ambiguities and a general lack of preciseness, but the structure and processes of are easy to grok and dive into. By keeping it simple, the game relies on flowing action and motion to propel it to greater heights.

The huge achievement is the gem system. The players taking on the role of Conan and his merry band of butchers receives a small amount of gems–representing energy–each turn. You utilize these tokens to move, attack, perform special skills, and even to re-roll results you aren’t happy with. Equipment conveys bonus dice to your pool and you can utilize that gem system for multiple smaller attacks or pump all of your resources into one huge swing. Picts, mummies, and giant poisonous snakes will crumble in your wake.

The overlord player gets their own stellar system of gem management. You have multiple tiles representing groups of enemies on the board and they are positioned on your plastic dashboard in “the river.” The enemy tile in the farthest left space takes only a single gem to activate, while the one in the farthest right takes eight. As soon as you activate an adversary, you place their tile to the far right and slide all of the others left. Much like the core resolution system of Conan, it’s just smooth. It works with no fuss and minimal upkeep to produce interesting decisions and tactical nuance. You have limited gems to activate your minions and have to weigh the cost to benefit ratio of pushing forward with the demon when he takes a heavy five gems to act.

This resource management system defines the feel of Conan. It keeps the action fluid while offering multiple options and emphasizing those decisions by limiting scope to the most important elements. The fact that heroes can alternate acting and don’t have a distinct turn helps the overall cinematic atmosphere. This means Conan can break down the wall of the hut (this is literally a skill he can perform), then Shevatas can run in and stab the shaman in the face. Next, Conan charges at the approaching gigantic snake on the flank to run it through. Satisfaction reigns supreme as you bash heads, pick locks, and cast spells.

The one time I actually miss that annoying dude from the Mentos commercials

With such a simple set of mechanisms much of the flavor and context for the cinematic action comes from the scenarios. There’s a surprising amount of variety in the 10 base missions with more on the horizon. You’ll kick things off invading a Pict village to remove the head of Zogar Sag and rescue a princess. You actually have to carry the decapitated head off the board. If there isn’t a #thatssoconan hashtag then there damn well should be.

How about some pirate ship boarding action where you can leap from deck to deck? Or Conan going solo into an inn to interrogate corrupt priests and lift a curse he’s burdened with? There are juicy and interesting situations for days.

Within the context of those stellar scenarios you have action and vigor fueled by that gem/stamina mechanism. When you have heroic warriors dashing about the board, taking heads and leaping across gaping chasms–you have story. You have thrilling moments that you eagerly discuss as soon as the end credits roll. You have moments that are so intensely yours that you’ll be reminiscing for weeks to come.

It also helps tremendously that everything is so damn beautiful. The boards are gorgeous, perhaps the best you’ll ever witness. The miniatures aren’t perfect, but they’re on par with the better manufacturers in the industry. The cardboard tokens, character illustrations, and dice are all hefty and svelte.

This is a game that exudes energy. It hits some roadblocks with the translation of the French rules and will often leave things up to group determination, but the payoff is decidedly worth it. Getting past those loose moments such as when it “recommends” starting heroes and gear (you should always use the recommended setup), is not altogether challenging and little stands in the way of adventure. The feeling and atmosphere are what the game leaves you with, not questions and confusion.

Take up the sword, let your hair flow in the salty wind, and crush your enemies.

Or, rather, that’s what I would be urging you to do under different circumstances. You see, Conan has a major issue that must be discussed. It’s easy to dismiss racially insensitive portrayals and explicit sexism when the source material dates back to as early as the 1930s. But that would be the easy way out.

I tend to give others the benefit of the doubt so I don’t want to wholeheartedly lambast these design decisions, but there are a number of questionable choices that were made which need to enter the conversation. Elements like having the princess you rescue in the first scenario function mechanically as an object. Or having the sole female character in the retail box fill the role of support for the males.

If Robert E. Howard sold women’s clothing he’d be begging for change by noon. Pulling out the rulebook with its portrayal of an unconscious nude female on an altar before Conan is simply uncomfortable at a minimum. I can’t imagine having that sit on a table in a public place or passing it to my now three year old daughter when she is old enough to handle the game.

Does all of this invalidate the sheer joy of what this game offers? That’s a difficult question and a philosophical quandary I’m struggling with. As a reviewer, these are issues I don’t normally even need to think about. At this very moment my daughter is playing on the floor behind me. I can’t help but wonder-the next time I reach for Conan what do my actions say? Is Conan just a board game and this isn’t something we should be worried about? I don’t know, but I do know something just doesn’t feel right.

Charlie's Take - Conan

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