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I suppose this dates back to my youth when my flaming hair, perhaps a deplorably outrageous red, was the object of dozens of derisive comments, each customarily engendering its own rebuttal, both followed often by a nimble controversy, adjudicated by bare knuckles. I recalled, with a certain amount of satisfaction, even in the House of Saphrar, that I had managed to resolve most of these disputes in my favor. My aunt used to examine my knuckles each evening and when they were skinned—which was not seldom—I trooped away to bed with honor rather than supper. "It was an amusement on my part," smiled Saphrar, "to speak your name at that time—to see what you would do—to give you something, so to speak, to stir in your wine". It was a Turian saying. They used wines in which, as a matter of fact, things could be and were, upon occasion, stirred—mostly spices and sugars. "Let us kill him," said the Paravaci. - (Nomads of Gor, Chapter )