Ah, the Wheel Of Pain...
The Wheel Of Pain can be an allegory, if you wish. It can be a mill or a torture device or just a clever creation by a writer to explain how Conan got his Hanz and Franz on. But I believe the Wheel Of Pain is what it is. It is real. It is pain. I mean, never ending pain and mind numbing boredom and madness until the wheel itself, or the cold or the heat or some illness or injury, finally stops the hell you're living and you drop dead in your chains. Free at last. It is what it is, a wheel. With slaves to push it. Round and around and around, day after day, month after month, lifetime after lifetime, ad infinitum. It is what it is.
But why? To grind grain? Build muscles? Waste a lot of good slaves for no reason other than to waste them? No. The wheel is a brilliant device constructed by the War Masters in the East, where Conan is eventually taken to learn the "deepest secrets" of weapons and warfare.
The Riddle of Steel
Every now and then, the Wheel of Pain reveals its terrible purpose for existing. On a very rare occasion, the Wheel of Pain does not destroy and grind a man to death. Instead, it creates one. Creates a man into something that is harder and stronger than any weapon of steel. A man of incredible strength in body and mind. Of the flesh. Most men chained to the wheel will go insane or die of exhaustion or from the elements. Or both. But the War Masters knew that a rare few would become the answer, become the truth to the Riddle: "steel isn't strong, boy, flesh is stronger."
The Wheel, the War Master's wagered when they constructed it, would create a man who could master his flesh. Master body and mind and thus, master fear and pain. If that happened, the man would be ready to take the next step towards the "deepest secrets."
After the Wheel of Pain has fulfilled its purpose, the War Masters then order the raw material to be taken to the gladiator pit and set loose. There is never any doubt in the War Masters' beliefs that this newborn child of the Wheel will survive the pit. They know that no gladiator stands a chance against the child of the Wheel of Pain. The fights to the death are only meant to reawaken the emotions and instincts in the man, and to wake up the long subdued violence inside him. Only now, it is lightening in a bottle. The rage is controlled. The pain is controlled. The fear is controlled. Thought and body are chained to a mind of focused power that only the Wheel Of Pain could create. All the enemies of men who fight in combat, of the warrior, fear and doubt and pain, no longer threaten him. For they do not exist if he wishes it. He can bend his flesh to where there is no doubt or fear, or pain. There is only him. And in the pit, only he will remain. After waking the violence within by slaughtering countless gladiators in raw combat, the War Masters then order the man to be brought to them in the east. He is now ready to learn the "deepest secrets" of war and weaponry and fulfill the ultimate purpose of the Wheel of Pain. He has become the living answer to the Riddle of Steel. And now he will become a true warrior--a man, whose sole occupation, sole purpose and reason, is killing. Is war. Round and round. Day after day. Year after year. He will fight. No one can say if he is a good man or a bad one. No one will know why he fights or why he died. Not even the gods will know. He just is what he is. Real. Not a metaphor. Not an allegory. Just is. And that's all that matters and is important on the Wheel of Pain.
That my friends, is my Wheel Of Pain. No allegory in my opinion. No allegory can match it's simple but very real and terrible purpose. It is what it is...
When Conan rips the wheel necklace off his neck and replaces it with the eye of the serpent, he begins to diminish. Emotion has him once again. The lessons of the Wheel are then, over time, slowly forgotten until he loses control of his inner peace for good and spends the rest of his life restless and empty with the jeweled crown of Aquilonia resting "upon a troubled brow."