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The string, in which I was primarily interested, was bunched in my hand, close to the ring, and I took its scent. - (Swordsmen of Gor, Chapter 5, Sentence #104)

I did not blame him. Might not a knife swiftly, like a striking viper, dart from its sheath, find its home in a startled heart, and might not the very body of that heart serve an assassin as shield, sheltering the assailant from the vengeance of the crossbows' metal-finned, soon-flighted penetrant iron? I pretended to examine the gold. I lowered my head respectfully to the symbol, as one might salute the Sardar, but I kept my eyes raised, to keep in view its purveyor. The string, in which I was primarily interested, was bunched in my hand, close to the ring, and I took its scent. Without a translator I had no hope of deciphering the scent, but I recognized the voice, so to speak, of Priest-Kings, who communicate by scent. I had no doubt that that leather had been impressed with the message of Priest-Kings. But I had no way of reading it. - (Swordsmen of Gor)