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Standing, screaming, shaking their silver-gloved fists at me, they hurled their frustration, their invective and abuse on my head. - (Outlaw of Gor, Chapter 13, Sentence #146)

I stood unmoving. The fury of the stands was uncontrolled. As I stood there in the center of the arena, alone, silent, aloof, not seeming to hear them, those hundreds, rather thousands, who wore the silver masks understood that their will had been spurned, that this creature alone on the sand beneath them had thwarted their pleasure. Standing, screaming, shaking their silver-gloved fists at me, they hurled their frustration, their invective and abuse on my head. The shrill rage of these masked creatures seemed to know no bounds, to verge on hysteria, on madness. Calmly I waited in the center of the arena for the warriors. The first man to reach me was the man in wrist straps, his face livid with rage. - (Outlaw of Gor)