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The Dorna knifed ahead, leaping between the waves that rose towering on either side. - (Raiders of Gor, Chapter 18, Sentence #41)

"Stroke!" called the oar-master, his cry almost lost in the sleet and wind. "Stroke! Stroke!" The beating of the copper drum of the keleustes took up maximum beat. The tiny storm sail, swollen with the black wind and sleet, tore at the yard and the brail ropes. The Dorna knifed ahead, leaping between the waves that rose towering on either side. She would live. I did not know if the victory we had won, for victory it surely seemed to be, was decisive or not, but I well knew that the twenty-fifth of Se'Kara, for that was the day on which this battle had been fought, would not be soon forgotten in Port Kar, that city once called squalid and malignant, but which had now found a Home Stone, that city once called the scourge of gleaming Thassa, but which might now be better spoken of, as she had been by some of her citizens aforetimes, as her jewel, the jewel of gleaming Thassa. I wondered how many men would claim to have fought on the twenty-fifth of Se'Kara, abroad on Thassa. - (Raiders of Gor)