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"bosk "

Book 4. (1 results) Nomads of Gor (Individual Quote)

"It is too bad," he said, "I would have preferred to stake him out in the path of the bosk". - (Nomads of Gor, Chapter 26, Sentence #338)
Chapter # Sentence # Quote
26 338 "It is too bad," he said, "I would have View more quotes about preferred">preferred to stake him out in the path of the bosk".

Book 4. (7 results) Nomads of Gor (Context Quote)

Chapter # Sentence # Quote
26 335 He turned in the direction from which the scream had come.
26 336 Slowly, not hurrying, in his boots he tramped across the rug, toward the sound.
26 337 He stopped once beside the twisted, hideous body of Tolnus of the Paravaci.
26 338 "It is too bad," he said, "I would have preferred to stake him out in the path of the bosk".
26 339 Then, saying no more, Kamchak, the rest of us following, left the room, guiding ourselves by the distant, frustrated howls of disappointed sleen.
26 340 We came together to the brink of the Yellow Pool of Turia.
26 341 At its marbled edge, hissing and quivering with rage, throwing their heads now and again upward and howling in frustrated fury were the two tawny hunting sleen, their maddened round eyes blazing on the pathetic figure of Saphrar of Turia, blubbering and whimpering, sobbing, reaching out, his fingers scratching the air as though he would climb it, for the graceful, decorative vines that hung above the pool, more than twenty feet above his head.
He turned in the direction from which the scream had come. Slowly, not hurrying, in his boots he tramped across the rug, toward the sound. He stopped once beside the twisted, hideous body of Tolnus of the Paravaci. "It is too bad," he said, "I would have preferred to stake him out in the path of the bosk". Then, saying no more, Kamchak, the rest of us following, left the room, guiding ourselves by the distant, frustrated howls of disappointed sleen. We came together to the brink of the Yellow Pool of Turia. At its marbled edge, hissing and quivering with rage, throwing their heads now and again upward and howling in frustrated fury were the two tawny hunting sleen, their maddened round eyes blazing on the pathetic figure of Saphrar of Turia, blubbering and whimpering, sobbing, reaching out, his fingers scratching the air as though he would climb it, for the graceful, decorative vines that hung above the pool, more than twenty feet above his head. - (Nomads of Gor)