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The bird could not fly a direct line to Port Kar, because of the wind, and we managed an oblique path, cutting away from the fleet. - (Raiders of Gor, Chapter 18, Sentence #141)

"We men of Treve are brave," had said he, "but we are not mad". The bird was buffeted by the storm, but it was a strong bird. I did not know the width of the storm, but I hoped its front would be only a few pasangs. The bird could not fly a direct line to Port Kar, because of the wind, and we managed an oblique path, cutting away from the fleet. From time to time the bird, tiring, its wings wet, cold, coated with sleet, would drop sickeningly downward, but then again it would beat its way on the level, half driven by the wind, half flying. The boy, Fish, cold, numb, wet, his hair and clothing iced with sleet, clung to the rope dangling beneath the bird. Once the bird fell so low that the boy's feet and the bottom of the rope on which he stood splashed a path in the churning waters, and then the bird, responding to my fierce pressures on the one-strap, beat its way up again and again flew, but then only yards over the black, rearing waves, the roaring sea. - (Raiders of Gor)