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There was no mistaking it, that scent, though now it was distant, and faint, a whisper on the wind. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 27, Sentence #379)

Selius Arconious had lifted his head, facing backward, nostrils flared, testing the wind, a moment later. Ellen, the wagon stopped, climbed one of the large, bronzeshod rear wheels, and, clinging to the side of the bed, her bare feet on a heavy, wooden, rounded spoke, looked backward. It was a scent she had experienced once before, on Targo's sales shelf in the Kettle Market, though then it had been so suddenly, so unexpectedly, upon her, almost stifling, almost overwhelming, so hot, so suddenly close and terrible. There was no mistaking it, that scent, though now it was distant, and faint, a whisper on the wind. It was the same. "Arm yourselves," said Portus Canio. A man removed a cylindrical bundle, tied with cord, from the wagon bed, and undid the cord, spilling bladed weapons on the grass. - (Prize of Gor)