Book 3. (7 results) Priest-Kings of Gor (Context Quote)
| Chapter # | Sentence # | Quote |
|---|---|---|
| 1 | 46 | I missed Torm and wondered if I would ever see him again, bounding about excoriating the authors of dusty scrolls, knocking the inkwell from his desk with an imperial sweep of the sleeve of his blue robe, leaping on the table in birdlike fury denouncing one scribe or another for independently rediscovering an idea that had already appeared in a century-old manuscript known to Torm of course but not to the luckless scribe in question, rubbing his nose in his robe, shivering, leaping down to thrust his feet against the everpresent, overloaded charcoal brazier that invariably burned under his table, amid the litter of his scraps and parchments, regardless of whatever the outside temperature might be. |
| 1 | 47 | I supposed Torm might be anywhere, for those of Ko-ro-ba had been scattered by the Priest-Kings. |
| 1 | 48 | I would not search the fair for him, nor if he were here would I make my presence known, for by the will of Priest-Kings no two men of Ko-ro-ba might stand together, and I had no wish to jeopardize the little scribe. |
| 1 | 49 | gor would be the poorer were it not for his furious eccentricities; the Counter-Earth would simply not be the same without belligerent, exasperated little Torm. |
| 1 | 50 | I smiled to myself. |
| 1 | 51 | If I should meet him I knew he would thrust himself upon me and insist on being taken into the Sardar, though he would know it would mean his death, and I would have to bundle him in his blue robes, hurl him into a rain barrel and make my escape. |
| 1 | 52 | Perhaps it would be safer to drop him into a well. |
 |
I missed Torm and wondered if I would ever see him again, bounding about excoriating the authors of dusty scrolls, knocking the inkwell from his desk with an imperial sweep of the sleeve of his blue robe, leaping on the table in birdlike fury denouncing one scribe or another for independently rediscovering an idea that had already appeared in a century-old manuscript known to Torm of course but not to the luckless scribe in question, rubbing his nose in his robe, shivering, leaping down to thrust his feet against the everpresent, overloaded charcoal brazier that invariably burned under his table, amid the litter of his scraps and parchments, regardless of whatever the outside temperature might be.
I supposed Torm might be anywhere, for those of Ko-ro-ba had been scattered by the Priest-Kings.
I would not search the fair for him, nor if he were here would I make my presence known, for by the will of Priest-Kings no two men of Ko-ro-ba might stand together, and I had no wish to jeopardize the little scribe.
gor would be the poorer were it not for his furious eccentricities; the Counter-Earth would simply not be the same without belligerent, exasperated little Torm.
I smiled to myself.
If I should meet him I knew he would thrust himself upon me and insist on being taken into the Sardar, though he would know it would mean his death, and I would have to bundle him in his blue robes, hurl him into a rain barrel and make my escape.
Perhaps it would be safer to drop him into a well.
- (Priest-Kings of Gor, Chapter )