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Another Taurentian fell from my sword. - (Assassin of Gor, Chapter 21, Sentence #272)

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. One of the attendants with a whip struck me as I fought and I spun on him. He threw the whip to the sand and ran howling from the arena. Another approached me warily with his hot iron. - (Assassin of Gor)