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Or perhaps I should bless the fighting spirit of that plumed giant, my war tarn, that terrible thing the Older Tarl had called a tarn of tarns. Beak and talons rending, uttering ear-shattering screams, my tarn slashed at the other two birds. I crossed swords with the nearer of the two warriors in a brief passage that could have lasted only an instant. I was suddenly aware, dizzily conscious, that one of the enemy tarns was sinking downward, flopping wildly, falling into the recesses of the swamp forest below. The other warrior pulled his tarn about as if for another passage at arms, but then, as if suddenly realizing that his duty was to give the alarm, he shouted at me in rage and wheeled his tarn again, streaking for the lights of Ar. With his start, he would be confident, but I knew that my tarn could overtake him easily. I brought my tarn into line with the retreating speck and gave him his rein. - (Tarnsman of Gor, Chapter )