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Lara, as mystified as I, ran along with the men, staying as close to me as the jostling crowds permitted. Thus borne aloft, from street to street, in the midst of joyous shouting, weapons raised on all sides in salute, my ears ringing with the plowing song, once a song of the freeholds of Tharna, long since supplanted by the Great Farms, I found myself brought to that fateful Kal-da shop I remembered so well, where I had dined in Tharna and had awakened to the treachery of Ost. It had become a headquarters of the revolution, perhaps because men of Tharna recalled that it was there they had learned to sing. There, standing before the low doorway, I looked once more upon the squat, powerful figure of Kron, of the caste of Metal Workers. His great hammer was slung from his belt and his blue eyes glistened with happiness. The huge, scarred hands of a Metal Worker were held out to me. Beside him, to my joy, I saw the impudent features of Andreas, that sweep of black hair almost obliterating his forehead. - (Outlaw of Gor, Chapter )