I’m twelve and my uncle is walking me down the long hallway at the center of his house. We stop at what should be his linen closet, but when he opens the door, I see that it’s crammed floor to ceiling and front to back with paperback novels. I can take three, he tells me, and when I’m done, I can bring them back and get three more.Because I don’t know any of these writers, these genres, I take three books that aren’t like each other: one of Don Pendleton’s Mack Bolan adventures, a Louis L’Amour western, and a Conan the Barbarian novel.I don’t remember the title of the book that took me on my first trip to the Hyborian Age—it could have been Conan…The post My Life With Conan the Barbarian appeared first on Texas Monthly.