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The season was nearly over, the time when ships were taken from the water for their wintering, the time when rational mariners withdrew wisely from lashing, gleaming Thassa, leaving her, the mother, to her moods of violence, to her towering, rushing, lifting waves, higher than the masts of round ships, to her bitter storms and cruel ice. - (Mariners of Gor, Chapter 2, Sentence #20)

Thus are the farther islands sheltered, protected from illicit trade, and the wealth of Cos and Tyros conserved. "It is no illusion," said the captain, his eye to the glass. "What then?" asked his second officer, peering into the fog. The season was nearly over, the time when ships were taken from the water for their wintering, the time when rational mariners withdrew wisely from lashing, gleaming thassa, leaving her, the mother, to her moods of violence, to her towering, rushing, lifting waves, higher than the masts of round ships, to her bitter storms and cruel ice. We at the oars, free men all, for our vessel was a long ship, low in the water, knifelike, fit for war, were looking forward to our winter leave, and the paga and girls of the taverns, The Silver Chain, the Beaded Whip, the Pleasure Garden, the Chatka and Curla, the Ubar's Choice, and others. "It is moving," said the captain. "It is no island, no mountain. - (Mariners of Gor, Chapter 2)