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The tarn, screaming, its wing useless, tumbled uncontrollably from the edge of the large, open, padded ring suspended over the net on the track, plunging into the net, its rider cutting the safety straps and leaping from its back in order that he not be slain beneath the bird struggling in the net. - (Assassin of Gor, Chapter 12, Sentence #3)

I did not, of course, turn back to see which one it might be. The Peasant The shrill pain scream of the racing tarn pierced the roar of the frenzied crowd. "Blue! Blue!" screamed the man next to me, a blue patch sewn on his left shoulder, a pair of glazed blue clay plates clutched in his right hand. The tarn, screaming, its wing useless, tumbled uncontrollably from the edge of the large, open, padded ring suspended over the net on the track, plunging into the net, its rider cutting the safety straps and leaping from its back in order that he not be slain beneath the bird struggling in the net. The other bird, which had buffeted it against the edge of the ring, spun awkwardly through, turned in the air, and under the savage command of its control straps, and responding to a yellow flash of the tarn goad, regained its control and sped toward the next ring. "Red! Red! Red!" I heard from nearby. The next seven tarns, strung out, sped through the ring and wheeled in flight to take the next ring. - (Assassin of Gor)