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But Ivar Forkbeard had come in death, if not in life, to the temple of Priest-Kings, betraying the old gods, to have his bones anointed at last with the grease of Priest-Kings. - (Marauders of Gor, Chapter 2, Sentence #330)

Many of them were giants, huge men, inured to cold, accustomed to war and the labor of the oar, raised from boyhood on steep, isolated farms near the sea, grown strong and hard on work, and meat and cereals. Such men, from boyhood, in harsh games, had learned to run, to leap, to swim, to throw the spear, to wield the sword, to wield the ax, to stand against steel, even bloodied, unflinching. Such men, these, would be the hardest of the hard, for only the largest, the swiftest and finest might win for themselves a bench on the ship of a captain, and the man great enough to command such as they must be first and mightiest among them, for the men of Torvaldsland will obey no other, and that man had been Ivar Forkbeard. But Ivar Forkbeard had come in death, if not in life, to the temple of Priest-Kings, betraying the old gods, to have his bones anointed at last with the grease of Priest-Kings. No more would he make over his ale, with his closed fist, the sign of the hammer. I noted one of the men of Torvaldsland. He was of incredible stature, perhaps eight feet in height and broad as a bosk. - (Marauders of Gor, Chapter 2)