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"She was beautiful," cried out Aphris of Turia. - (Nomads of Gor, Chapter 12, Sentence #424)

Certain of these phases are very slow, in which there is almost no movement, save perhaps the turning of a head or the movement of a hand; others are defiant and swift; some are graceful and pleading; some stately, some simple; some proud, some piteous; but each time, as the common thread, she is drawn closer to the caped warrior. At last his fist was within the Turian collar itself and he drew the girl, piteous and exhausted, to his lips, subduing her with his kiss, and then her arms were about his neck and unresisting, obedient, her head to his chest, she was lifted lightly in his arms and carried from the firelight. Kamchak and I, and others, threw coins of gold into the sand near the fire. "She was beautiful," cried out Aphris of Turia. "I never knew a woman," said Elizabeth, her eyes blazing, showing few signs of the paga, "could be so beautiful!" "She was marvelous," I said. "And I," howled Kamchak, "have only miserable cooking-pot wenches!" Kamchak and I were standing up. Aphris suddenly put her head to his thigh, looking down. - (Nomads of Gor)