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It had been a strange and eventful summer, fantastic in many ways. Week by week Ar became ever more wild, ever more lawless. Gangs of men, often armed, roamed streets and bridges, apparently undisturbed by Warriors, their depredations not curbed; and, startlingly, when captured and sent to the Central Cylinder, or to the Cylinder of Justice, pretexts would be found for their release, customarily on legal technicalities or an alleged lack of evidence against them. But, as this lawlessness grew, and it became such that men would not walk the bridges without arms, the frenzy over the races and the games grew more rabid; it became rare on the streets and bridges to pass a person who would not, either for himself or for someone he knew, wear a faction patch, even on those rare days in which the Stadium of Tarns stood empty. People seemed to care little for anything save the races and the games. Their neighbor's compartment might be despoiled by ruffians but, if they themselves were unharmed, they would think little of it and hasten to their chosen entertainment, fearing only that they might be late. The duel for the lead in racing hung suspended among three factions, the Greens, the Yellows and the Steels, the new faction. - (Assassin of Gor, Chapter )