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Slowly, wagon by wagon, the long columns of the Tuchuk retreat were formed, each wagon in its column, each column in its place, and, covering pasangs of prairie, the march from Turia had begun. - (Nomads of Gor, Chapter 21, Sentence #19)

I observed a special wagon, drawn by a dozen bosk, being pulled up the hill, into which the standard, when uprooted, would be set. In a few minutes the great pole of the standard had been mounted on the wagon and was descending the hill, leaving on the summit the burned wood and the black ashes that had been the wagon of Kutaituchik, surrendering them now to the wind and the rain, to time and the snows to come, and to the green grass of the prairie. "Turn the wagons!" called Kamchak. Slowly, wagon by wagon, the long columns of the tuchuk retreat were formed, each wagon in its column, each column in its place, and, covering pasangs of prairie, the march from Turia had begun. Far beyond the wagons I could see the herds of bosk, and the dust from their hoofs stained the horizon. Kamchak rose in his stirrups. "The tuchuks ride from Turia!" he cried. - (Nomads of Gor, Chapter 21)