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I stood with Harold on a planked platform fixed across the wagon box of the wagon at our center, whose domed framework had been torn away. - (Nomads of Gor, Chapter 23, Sentence #124)

I looked to the left and right over the torn, bloody barricade of wagons, at the remains of my men, wounded and exhausted, many of them lying on the barricade or on the ground behind it, trying to gain but a moment's respite. Free women, and even some Turian slave girls, went to and fro, bringing water and, here and there, where there was point in it, binding wounds. Some of the Tuchuks began to sing the Blue Sky Song, the refrain of which is that though I die, yet there will be the bosk, the grass and sky. I stood with Harold on a planked platform fixed across the wagon box of the wagon at our center, whose domed framework had been torn away. Together we looked out over the field. We watched the milling of kaiila and riders in the distance, the movement of standards. "We have done well," said Harold. - (Nomads of Gor)