E em renovado tributo a uma obra de arte ímpar na história do cinema, deixo uma versão preliminar da parte final do script que em nada compromete a sua grandeza épica, pecando apenas provavelmente, na visão de Milius, por ser demasiado explícito face à cadência que ele ambicionara - uma de silêncio a reforçar o contorno estético de um conteúdo profundo e que servisse de mote à reflexão e à introspecção.

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Holding his father’s broken sword, moving up in a swift arc and down, chopping into Thulsa Doom’s neck and shoulder...

Doom sinks to his knees.

«You would kill your -- father??»

He withdraws the blade and wheels it down with another mighty chop -- and another.

Each blow shakes the crowd and drives them back.

He pulls back the head of Thulsa Doom and the body falls back, sliding down the stairs. He stands full on, looking down on the thousands of lights, the head in one hand, his father’s broken sword in the other. Silence.

Conan (voice over) : «He was right -- the answer was not in the blade but in the man... If my father was the light of day -- Thulsa Doom was my night...»

He sits on the steps and watches as the lines form myriad patterns of light far below him.

Conan (voice over) : «They were his children and now they are like so many orphans... but like myself -- they are free.»