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She looked once more at the rebels and soldiers and guardsmen and Lara with a loathing I could sense behind the impassive mask, and then that metal image turned once more upon me. - (Outlaw of Gor, Chapter 25, Sentence #142)

"Hail Lara, true Tatrix of Tharna!" they cried, and as was the custom of the city, five times were those weapons brandished and five times did that glad shout ring out. The body of Dorna the Proud recoiled as if struck by five blows. Her silver-gloved hands clenched in fury upon the one-strap and beneath those shimmering gauntlets I knew the knuckles, drained of blood, were white with rage. She looked once more at the rebels and soldiers and guardsmen and Lara with a loathing I could sense behind the impassive mask, and then that metal image turned once more upon me. "Farewell, Tarl of Ko-ro-ba," she said. "Do not forget Dorna the Proud, for we have an account to settle!" The hands in their gloves of silver jerked back savagely on the one-strap and the wings of the tarn burst into flight. The carrying basket remained a moment on the roof and then, attached by its long ropes, interwoven with wire, it slid for a pace or two and lurched upward in the wake of the tarn. - (Outlaw of Gor)