Jewels of Gwahlur

The Teeth of Gwahlur. A treasure so legendary it drove men mad with wanting. In the forgotten kingdom of Keshan, where jungle temples sleep beneath centuries of vines, Conan the Cimmerian arrives with steel in his heart and a blade at his hip. He is not alone. Thutmekri the scheming priest, Zembabwian merchants with gold enough to buy kingdoms, and the whisper of something ancient and terrible all converge on the same prize: jewels hidden in the dead city of Alkmeenon, guarded by the spectral servants of Bît-Yakin. What follows is a masterpiece of cutthroat intrigue and mounting dread. Conan must outthink duplicitous priests, outfight hired killers, and outmaneuver rival treasure hunters who would see him dead. Then the dead rise. Something lingers in that forgotten valley, something that remembers when men first learned to fear the dark. Howard writes with the visceral punch of a man who lived his fiction: no lengthy philosophizing, just blood, jungle heat, and the cold logic of survival. The horror builds slowly, then crashes like a wave. This is sword-and-sorcery at its most primal: greedy men reaching for treasure they do not understand, and the ancient evil waiting to collect.