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He had been destroyed by priest-kings as casually as one might jerk loose the thong of a sandal. He had disobeyed and he had been destroyed, immediately and with grotesque dispatch, but the important thing was, I told myself, that he had disobeyed, that he could disobey, that he had been able to disobey and choose the ignominious death he knew must follow. He had won his freedom though it had, as the Goreans say, led him to the Cities of Dust, where, I think, not even priest-kings care to follow. He had, as a man, lifted his fist against the might of priest-kings and so he had died, defiantly, though horribly, with great nobility. I am of the Caste of Warriors, and it is in our codes that the only death fit for a man is that in battle, but I can no longer believe that this is true, for the man I met once on the road to Ko-ro-ba died well, and taught me that all wisdom and truth does not lie in my own codes. My business with the priest-kings is simple, as are most matters of honor and blood. For some reason unbeknownst to me they have destroyed my city, Ko-ro-ba, and scattered its peoples. - (Priest-Kings of Gor, Chapter )