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It is worthy of a warrior of the caste of Warriors, a swordsman of the high city of Ko-ro-ba, the Towers of the Morning. - (Nomads of Gor, Chapter 2, Sentence #31)

The consequences of my act, if I were successful, were too complex and fearful to calculate, the factors involved being so numerous and obscure. If it turned out badly, what I did, I would have no defense other than that I did what I did for my friend—for him—and for his brave kind, once hated enemies, whom I had learned to know and respect. There is no loss of honor in failing to achieve such a task, I told myself. It is worthy of a warrior of the caste of Warriors, a swordsman of the high city of Ko-ro-ba, the Towers of the Morning. Tal, I might say, in greeting, I am Tarl Cabot of Ko-ro-ba; I bring no credentials, no proofs; I come from the Priest-Kings; I would like to have the object which was brought to you from them; they would now like it back; thank you; farewell. I laughed. I would say little or nothing. - (Nomads of Gor)