Kull: Exile of Atlantis opens with an untitled short story — which was previously published as “Exile of Atlantis” — that James LaFond deems Robert E. Howard’s most shamanic piece:
Kull was the character that seems to have been Howard’s Conan progenitor. There is something different about Kull though. The Conan character is tribal in loyalty. Kull is not, being a conflicted cosmopolitan barbarian, who holds to personal loyalties.
This entire story is about questioning tradition, rejecting myths and clannish assumptions, and going against your own kind for a greater good; not a greater political good, but rather in service to a natural moral imperative. Most of the tale concerns a fireside conversation between two cavemen and Kull, a feral barbarian child that was something of a Tarzan/Moses. There is no action for action’s sake. The only actions are triggered by racism and allegiance to natural law and tribal law and are expressions thereof. A theme Howard explored often in essay and fiction was that less civilized people are naturally less rotten than more civilized people. You might say it is his strongest theme, and it never shows through more clearly than in this simple story that he never sold.
Douglas Cohen makes many of the same points:
Howard would never sell another Kull tale after he started selling his Conan tales. You might think this was because with all the similarities between Conan and Kull, it made little sense to continue writing about Kull when Conan was more successful. I don’t think this is the case. Despite all their similarities, Conan and Kull are very different characters. In my post about Conan, I mentioned that Conan is not a philosopher or a man of deep thoughts. Kull very much is. Kull of Atlantis cared about the nature of life and existence. Despite his barbaric background, Kull didn’t need to conform to civilization nearly as much as Conan had to. His thoughts and beliefs were far ahead of his time?but, like Conan, when necessity demanded it he was more than able to shed the frills of the civilized world. It’s this philosophical bent of Kull’s that makes him a worthy addition to the literature of sword & sorcery.
As an example of their differences, you need look no further than “The Mirrors of Tuzun Thune,” which happens to be my favorite Kull story. Kull, grown restless with the ordinariness of life, learns of the wizard Tuzun Thune and seeks the wizard in search of wonders and a greater understanding about the nature of the world. When he gazes into the Mirrors of Tuzun Thune, he gets far more than he bargained for. Although Howard notes that Conan was prone to bouts of melancholy, Conan would never seek arcane wisdom to brighten his mood. Instead, he would tie one on by drinking prodigious amounts of whatever was available, crack a few heads if anyone decided to start something, and ultimately polish off the evening with a lively wench (or several). Simple cures for a simple man. And if he came anywhere near the Mirrors of Tuzun Thune, his first reaction at beholding such black sorcery would most likely be to shatter the glass with his sword.
But Conan’s cures for the blues are among the things that have made Kull restless. Kull seeks something more, something other. He seeks answers. Conan found his answers long ago. To Kull, Conan’s most basic primal fears represent exotic wonders that demand further investigation. The rise of these two barbarians may have followed similar paths, but the men wearing the crowns are two very different individuals.