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In this moment, Mirus, within the cover of this distraction, all eyes on the officer, the spokesman, the threatening soldier with the dagger, with a flash of robes, threw himself across the grass, toward the place to which the slave had earlier seen him glance. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 27, Sentence #2888)

A hand seized the spokesman by the hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat. "No!" whispered the spokesman. The dagger paused, wavering, the energy of the arm behind it revealing itself in the conflicted hesitation of the blade, narrow, bright, quivering, arrested by a sudden monitory glance from the officer. In this moment, Mirus, within the cover of this distraction, all eyes on the officer, the spokesman, the threatening soldier with the dagger, with a flash of robes, threw himself across the grass, toward the place to which the slave had earlier seen him glance. There, as men looked about, startled, he seized up from the thick grass a closed holster and, in a moment, had freed the sixth pistol from its sheathing. Even Tersius Major, who held a weapon, was taken aback. Mirus now faced the group, the pistol, removed from its hiding place, ready in his hand. - (Prize of Gor)