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At last my hand clutched something—the girl's wrist—and I drew her slowly upward out of the sand. - (Tarnsman of Gor, Chapter 7, Sentence #124)

In what seemed like hours but must have been a matter of only a few seconds, it gave, leaping upward out of the mud. I half-carried, half-floated it, shoving it toward the place where the daughter of the Ubar had slipped under the water. I clung to the log, floating in the shallow water over the quicksand, and reached down again and again into the mire. At last my hand clutched something—the girl's wrist—and I drew her slowly upward out of the sand. My heart leaped with joy as I heard her whimpering, choking gasps, her lungs spasmodically sucking in the fetid but vivifying air. I shoved the log back and finally, carrying the filthy body soaked in its absurd garments, made my way to a ledge of green, dry land at the edge of the swamp. I set her down on a bed of green clover. - (Tarnsman of Gor)