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A figure in white was toward the center of the group, and I supposed that must be he. - (Swordsmen of Gor, Chapter 16, Sentence #76)

Much tenseness roved Tarncamp. Far below, and to the front, I could see an observation platform set up at one end of the plaza of training. Some individuals were there, and among them, I supposed, would be Lord Nishida. A figure in white was toward the center of the group, and I supposed that must be he. The war horn's blast burst out from beneath me and I saw the cavalry, in its diving, wedgelike, suddenly widening, formation, to allow for a broad front of arrow fire, rank behind rank, deploy. I suppose, to many, certain things might seem dreadful, the blast of the war horn, the thunder of tarn drums, the soaring descent to the attack, the scream of the tarn, the music of the bowstring, blood's lyre, with its song of death, but, too, to some, there is little which so speaks of life as these musics of intent, of risk, and peril, little else which seems to speak so avidly and preciously of life. Whereas I have spoken of two hundred tarns and riders, and this seems to me acceptable, it must be understood that, like any military unit, it might, from time to time, be above or below its official strength. - (Swordsmen of Gor)