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His desk, a vast wooden table, was piled with papers and pots of ink, and pens and scissors and leather fasteners and binders. - (Tarnsman of Gor, Chapter 3, Sentence #9)

"Why must I, an idiot, be always afflicted with idiots?" Out came the head. "Have I nothing better to do? Have I not a thousand scrolls gathering dust on my shelves, unread, unstudied?" "I don't know," I said. "Look," he cried in actual despair, waving his blue-robed arms hopelessly at the messiest chamber I had seen on Gor. His desk, a vast wooden table, was piled with papers and pots of ink, and pens and scissors and leather fasteners and binders. There was no square foot of the chamber that did not contain racks of scrolls, and others, hundreds perhaps, were piled like cord wood here and there. His sleeping mat was unrolled, and his blankets must not have been aired for weeks. His personal belongings, which seemed to be negligible, were stuffed into the meanest of the scroll racks. - (Tarnsman of Gor)