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I brought him to rest on one of the steel projections that occasionally jut forth from the cylinders and serve as tarn perches. - (Tarnsman of Gor, Chapter 6, Sentence #5)

As I dropped closer, I saw that the bridges were lined with the celebrants of the Planting Feast, many perhaps reeling home drunk on paga. Flying among the cylinders were tarnsmen, cavalry warriors reveling in the undisciplined liberty of the feast, racing one another, essaying mock passages at arms, sometimes dropping their tarns, like thunderbolts toward the bridges, only to jerk them upward just inches above the terrified heads of the celebrants. Boldly I dipped my tarn downward, into the midst of the cylinders, just another of the wild tarnsmen of Ar. I brought him to rest on one of the steel projections that occasionally jut forth from the cylinders and serve as tarn perches. The great bird opened and closed his wings, his steel-shod talons ringing on the metal perch as he changed his position, moving back and forth upon it. At last, satisfied, he brought his wings against his body and remained still, except for the alert movements of his great head and the flash of those wicked eyes scrutinizing the streams of men and women on the nearby bridges. My heart began to beat wildly, and I considered the facility with which I might yet wing my way from Ar. - (Tarnsman of Gor)