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My world now was small, bright, alive, consisting of little other than swift, flashing, ringing patterns before me, then to the side, and once more before me. - (Assassin of Gor, Chapter 21, Sentence #269)

The fans of the games of Ar had been fooled. They did not relish being witness to the private joke of some high person, doubtless the Ubar himself. As fans they shouted their anger at the deceit which had been practiced; as men they roared their fury at the unfair odds now designate upon the sand. My world now was small, bright, alive, consisting of little other than swift, flashing, ringing patterns before me, then to the side, and once more before me. I moved swiftly drawing one Warrior or another after me, and he who was swiftest died first; I turned and spun, accepting or not accepting an attack, always to isolate a man; vaguely, as though far off, I heard the screaming of Philemon in the Ubar's box, the shouting of Taurentians; in a moment's respite I saw a Taurentian slay a citizen who would have leaped into the arena to aid me; other Taurentians, with their spears, were forcing back the crowd, which seemed enraged. "Kill him! Kill him!" I heard Philemon screaming. Another Taurentian fell from my sword. - (Assassin of Gor)