… Connie the Slavegirl

You trudge through the shifting sands of the scorching Hyborian desert, your massive thews rippling under the fur loincloth that seemed to barely constrain your barbaric prowess, the sun beating down upon your bronzed skin like a fierce relentless drum. You grinned. Alive.

Beside you strode the wilful Red Sonja, fiery-haired she-devil with a sword, chainmail bikini and loincloth hugging her lithely muscle curves, flatteringly unutilitarian, but no man’s sword had pierced that chained mail.

Your eyes fixed on a prize that has eluded even the most cunning of treasure hunters in their vain pursuit of wealth and glory. Whispers of gold and jewels fill your head as you approach the grand edifice looming on the horizon: the Temple of Cybelle, sister to the god Crom.

The structure stands tall and proud, a testament to the matriarchal civilisation that once worshipped here. Its grand arches and intricate carvings speak of a time when the land was fertile and the gods were ever-watchful. Ever the pragmatist, you eye the place with a mix of skepticism and greed. “This is where we’ll find our fortune,” you grunt to Sonja, who nods in silent agreement. The shrine is said to be dedicated to female fertility, a fact that amuses you to no end. You have little time for such “soft” deities, preferring to place your faith in the steel of your sword and the strength of your own arms.

As you approach the temple, the air grows thick with an eerie quietude. The desert’s usual wind-whipped sand is stilled, replaced by a heavy, unsettling silence. Sonja feels a tingle run down her spine, a warning from her battle-honed instincts that something is amiss. She tightens her grip on her sword, her eyes scanning the shadows for any signs of danger. Ever confident, you stride forward without hesitation, dismissing her concerns with a wave of your hand. “It’s just the silence of the ancients,” you say with a smirk. “They know we’re here to claim what’s rightfully ours.”

Entering the dimly lit sanctum, your eyes are immediately drawn to the center of the chamber. There, atop a grand altar, stands a towering idol of a voluptuous woman, her form adorned with an immense glittering jewel that seems to pulse with an inner light. The very air around the statue hums with power, hinting at the ancient and perhaps not-so-dormant magic it contains. Your gaze fixes on the large jewel, a crimson gem nestled in the idol’s navel that promises wealth beyond your wildest dreams.

Ignoring the rumours that warned of dire consequences for those who defile the sacred shrine, you approach the idol with a cocky grin, your broad hands wrapping around the gem. With a grunt of effort, you pry it free. The moment it leaves its setting, a piercing shriek echoes through the chamber, and the very walls of the temple seem to tremble with rage. The light from the gem grows blinding, and Sonja has to shield her eyes as a burst of crimson energy envelops you.

When the light dissipates, Sonja lowers her arm and gapes in astonishment. Where you once stood as the mighty Conan, now you find yourself transformed into a petite, large-breasted woman with flowing dark hair and soft, delicate features. Your eyes, though now a sparkling green, still hold the fiery spirit of the barbarian. The transformation is complete, and the irony is not lost on Sonja. She can’t help but laugh in spite of herself. “Conan, what sorcery is this?” she exclaims.