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"Kill her!" "I will do so!" cried a soldier, whipping his sword from the sheath, and raising the weapon, but it fell, almost immediately, from a lost grip, as the man staggered back a foot or so, turned, and crumpled at the foot of the stands, the metal fins of a quarrel clearly visible, the bolt muchly buried in his chest. - (Plunder of Gor, Chapter 61, Sentence #643)

"sword her, to the blade, strike her!" howled Decius Albus to a man at arms before the stands. "Noble one," he cried, in protest. "She is a woman, a free woman!" "She has no Home Stone!" screamed Decius Albus, beside himself in fury. "Kill her!" "I will do so!" cried a soldier, whipping his sword from the sheath, and raising the weapon, but it fell, almost immediately, from a lost grip, as the man staggered back a foot or so, turned, and crumpled at the foot of the stands, the metal fins of a quarrel clearly visible, the bolt muchly buried in his chest. "They are armed!" cried a man. In the bit of time in which the Kur had advanced upon the free woman, had encountered the poisoned spines of the gay, bright-yellow parasol, and experienced the consequences of its indiscretion, the Kurlike thing near the stake had flung open the large, flat box, and Lord Grendel had seized out his ax, and Kurik, of Victoria, had had his foot in the stirrup of the stout bow, had drawn the cable, and set a quarrel into the guide. And in its rest, now, a new quarrel, like a poised bird of prey, like a cartridge in a rifle, lay in wait. - (Plunder of Gor, Chapter 61)