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I heard Harold cry out with delight at the sight of the fellow, and the man turned to face us, a quiva in his hand. - (Nomads of Gor, Chapter 26, Sentence #158)

In the room there were four persons. Sitting in the place of honor, cross-legged, calm, on the merchant's cushions, on his personal dais, applying a bit of oil to the blade of his sword, sat the lean, scarred Ha-Keel, once of Ar, now a mercenary tarnsman of squalid, malignant Port Kar. On the floor below the dais were Saphrar of Turia, frantic, clutching the purple-wrapped object, and the Paravaci, he who still wore the hood of the Clan of Torturers, he who would have been my assassin, he who had been with Saphrar of Turia when I had entered the Yellow Pool of Turia. I heard Harold cry out with delight at the sight of the fellow, and the man turned to face us, a quiva in his hand. Beneath his black mask I wager he turned white at the sight of Harold of the Tuchuks. I could sense him tremble. The other man with them was a young man, dark-haired and eyed, a simple man-at-arms, perhaps not more than twenty. - (Nomads of Gor)