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"The Dorna sees, the Dorna lives," I said. Tab had the Dorna backoared from the Brigand Island, whose tremors had now subsided, and whose pilots were already struggling to rekindle fires in which irons might be heated, enabling them to control the course and speed of their vast mount. Mercenaries, outraged but no longer discomfited, shouted, brandished their weapons, and shook their fists. Thurnock brushed them a kiss from his fingertips as we withdrew, which gesture doubtless incensed them further. As I knew Thurnock, the massive, wily peasant, this was no idle, childish gratification but a movement designed with war in mind. It is a foolish and often short-lived enemy whose steel is subject to hatred and blinding emotion; beware more the blade subject to the wary mind, the blade whose lightning is patient and cunning. The thought of Pa-Kur, Master of the Black Caste, the Assassins, briefly crossed my mind. - (Avengers of Gor, Chapter )