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Hardly had my shield been penetrated when my sword had leaped from its sheath and slashed through the shoulder straps of the shield, cutting it from my arm. Only an instant after myself Thorn's shield too was flung to the stones of the chamber floor. My spear had been driven a yard through it and the head had passed over his left shoulder as he crouched behind it. His sword too was free of its sheath and we rushed on one another like larls in the Voltai, our weapons meeting with a sharp, free clash of sound, the trembling brilliant ring of well-tempered blades, each tone ringing in the clear, glittering music of swordplay. Seemingly almost impassive, the golden-robed figure on the throne watched the two warriors moving backward and forward before her, one clad in the blue helmet and gray tunic of Tharna, the other in the universal scarlet of the Gorean Caste of Warriors. Our reflections fought one another in the shimmering surface of the great golden mask behind the throne. Our wild shadows like misformed giants locked in combat against the lofty walls of the torchlit chamber. - (Outlaw of Gor, Chapter )