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Well could I imagine Seremides storming about, striking subordinates, denouncing his staff, threatening his officers, and all Ar, overturning furniture, tearing down hangings, picking up the pen, putting it down again, spilling ink, shouting orders, rescinding them, issuing them again, and demanding that word not be sent to the camp of Myron, not yet, not yet. - (Magicians of Gor, Chapter 28, Sentence #51)

Quite possibly. If not now, surely by morning, when her women would arrive for her robing, her bathing, the breaking of her fast, her morning audiences. How frantic would then be the Central Cylinder. Well could I imagine Seremides storming about, striking subordinates, denouncing his staff, threatening his officers, and all Ar, overturning furniture, tearing down hangings, picking up the pen, putting it down again, spilling ink, shouting orders, rescinding them, issuing them again, and demanding that word not be sent to the camp of Myron, not yet, not yet. How eagerly they would seize on any clue. How swiftly, how desperately, would the simple message be received, specifying her location. They would rush there and find she whom they took to be their Ubara chained in place, as though she might now be no more than someone's mere slave girl. - (Magicians of Gor)