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The larl, no more than the sleen, reacted to the machine as a living thing, no more than it might have to a rock or tree. - (Kur of Gor, Chapter 19, Sentence #78)

The larl did not understand of course the menace of the power weapons, and their scope, so unlike single arrows, weapons which might have transformed him in a moment into a little more than a mound of burned meat, like a small mountain, smoking and bubbling, beneath a descending, gentle scattering of drifting, burning hair. But the machine stood between the winnings of the sleen and he who would lay claim upon them. The sleen was now burrowing his muzzle into the body of the wild sleen, chewing out the organ meat, delicacies most prized amongst carnivores. The larl, no more than the sleen, reacted to the machine as a living thing, no more than it might have to a rock or tree. But the mouth of the machine, and its fangs, raked the flank of the larl as it tried to brush past. The larl snarled with rage, and turned, and licked at its bloodied flank, and then tried to pass, again. Again, it was torn. - (Kur of Gor)