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Sarm's antennae lay immersed in the golden hair of the beetle; his grasping appendages with their sensory hairs caressed the golden hair; even did he take some of the hairs in his mouth and with his tongue try to lick the exudate from them. "The pleasure," came from Sarm's translator. "The pleasure, the pleasure". I could not shut out from my ears the grim sound of the sucking jaws of the beetle. I knew now why it was that the Golden beetles were permitted to live in the Nest, why it was that Priest-Kings would not slay them, even though it might mean their own lives. I wondered if the hairs of the Golden beetle, heavy with the droplets of that narcotic exudate, offered adequate recompense to a Priest-King for the ascetic millennia in which he might have pursued the mysteries of science, if they provided an acceptable culmination to one of those long, long lives devoted to the Nest, to its laws, to duty and the pursuit and manipulation of power. Priest-Kings, I knew, had few pleasures, and now I guessed that foremost among them might be death. - (Priest-Kings of Gor, Chapter )