Results Details

It seemed to me that for once my hair might actually prove useful, a turnabout I contemplated with pleasure. - (Nomads of Gor, Chapter 22, Sentence #16)

I accompanied him, stopping only long enough to rip away most of the upper portions of the baker's tunic and rinse the dye from my hair in a street fountain. I had no wish to be brought down with a Tuchuk arrow in the streets as a Turian civilian. Also I knew many of the Tuchuks were familiar with my perhaps too-red hair and might, seeing it, generously refrain from firing on its owner. It seemed to me that for once my hair might actually prove useful, a turnabout I contemplated with pleasure. Do not take me wrong—I am rather fond, on the whole, of my hair—it is merely that one must, to be objective about such matters, recognize that it has, from time to time, involved me in various difficulties—beginning about my fourth year. Now, however, it might not hurt at all to be promptly and accurately identified by means of it. When I lifted my head from the fountain in the Turian street Harold cried out in amazement, "Why you ARE Tarl Cabot!" "Yes," I had responded. - (Nomads of Gor)