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I supposed, were I clever enough, I would have remained in the doorway of the shop of Epicrates, forcing him to kill me on the premises, or to refrain from doing so, for the proximity to his own domicile. Too, I thought of surrendering myself to the guardsmen, and accepting the consequences, whatever they might be, for violating the curfew. "I know you will not," he had said. How could he know that, if he were not going to assure himself of it, with, say, a swift blow, a grasping paw on the throat, an embrace which might break a back? The tiniest sound, the scuttling of an urt, the fluttering of a vart, come over the walls from the countryside, almost made me scream with fear. I could not escape from the city at night, for the closure of the gates. Might I not hide by a gate, and then run when it was opened? Could I traverse a hundred paces before being pulled down by boys? I feared to inform on the beast, for it might escape, and seek me out. Too, oddly, I did not want to inform on him. - (Conspirators of Gor, Chapter )