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At the edge of the walkway, by the canal, I saw a short, narrow, pointed, metal-finned, metal, cylindrical object, an arrow or missile of some sort. It was a dread, terrible object. There was no mistaking its nature or purpose. I would later learn it was a familiar article of war, a metal bird of death, the quarrel of a crossbow. I half rose, looking about. I saw no assailant. Was this some accident? Had I been mistaken for someone else? Who would wish to attack me? Who would wish to kill me, and why, I, a helpless slave? What had I done? Was this some terrible mistake? Was I, unknown to myself, involved in intrigues, plots, or schemes about which I knew nothing? Was I thought to be a cog or principal in some enterprise far beyond my ken? As I saw no one about, and could discern no sign of danger, I sprang to my feet and began to retrace my steps, to return to the Golden Chain, but I had hardly taken a step when I saw, approaching on the same walkway on which I found myself, an unmistakable figure, large and menacing, hobbling, moving toward me. - (Quarry of Gor, Chapter )