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The tarn moved beyond me, and put down its head, and, at the same time, the yellow moon broke through the clouds, and I saw branches about, heaped, from which the fire might have been fed, and a supine figure, crumpled against the rocks. - (Rebels of Gor, Chapter 3, Sentence #54)

Strung cords with their dangling slivers of metal tend to be less favored; they may stir in the wind, like prayer chimes in a temple, which signals a human presence, past or present, and perhaps a camp's periphery. I saw little advantage in them, save to lure in intruders, which might then, after attacking empty bed rolls, be fallen upon. But bandits who know their trade would seldom attack an unscouted camp. The tarn moved beyond me, and put down its head, and, at the same time, the yellow moon broke through the clouds, and I saw branches about, heaped, from which the fire might have been fed, and a supine figure, crumpled against the rocks. The branch on which I had stepped was isolated; it was no prepared device of warning, a signal meaningful to one who might be alert, even in sleep, to that particular tiny sound. It had merely been to the side, perhaps stirred, even dropped. Behind me the fire grew dim. - (Rebels of Gor)