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The sky was a bright blue. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 27, Sentence #1004)

She was afraid to move. She feared that the smallest movement, the tiniest sound, the most diminutive influence, might prove critical, like the smallest jarring, or jostling, like a small thing which might tip a balance, a carelessly dislodged pebble that releases an avalanche, the particle of static electricity which triggers the bolt of lighting, the tiny movement, even a hesitant, uncertain, false step, which causes a gingerly held device, reposing in its container, to awaken, exploding, crying out, showering bricks, gouging asphalt, striking away roofs and walls for a hundred yards about. There was the sound of the feeding of the sleen. The sky was a bright blue. A gentle wind stirred stalks of grass. "Tarnsmen!" said Selius Arconious. "Tarnsmen!" Men tensed, the hands of riders almost darted to their weapons. - (Prize of Gor)