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I saw then how terrible was the thing I had done, selling my poems, my own poems, my precious, priceless poems! They now belonged to another! Better I had torn my heart out and sold it for a tarsk bit!" "Perhaps," I said. - (Mercenaries of Gor, Chapter 11, Sentence #127)

"Nothing," I said. "I realized it with the last poem," he said, miserably. "I looked down at the silver tarsk in my hand, and at the poem in the fellow's hand, and it all became clear to me. I saw then how terrible was the thing I had done, selling my poems, my own poems, my precious, priceless poems! They now belonged to another! Better I had torn my heart out and sold it for a tarsk bit!" "Perhaps," I said. "I then begged the fellow to take back his worthless tarsk, and return the poem to me". "And did he do so?" I asked. "Yes," said Hurtha, looking up at me. - (Mercenaries of Gor)