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As we made our way through the small boats, most moving toward the ship, we began to hear the cries on the beach, the clash of metal. - (Mariners of Gor, Chapter 22, Sentence #73)

Men clinging to oars came aboard, and took their places on the benches. The galley's bow swung toward the beach, and Cabot, from the helm, called the stroke, and, water running from the lifted and dipping oar blades, the galley crested the night waters, and sped, like a gull, toward the torches and confusion on the beach. "Stroke!" called Cabot, "stroke!" The fellow who had haplessly wept was now beside me at the oar, steady, and strong. As we made our way through the small boats, most moving toward the ship, we began to hear the cries on the beach, the clash of metal. It was now clear that quarterless war, red with blood, reigned upon the beach. Some hundreds of our men, in lines, were being forced back, away from the high beach, and the defile, toward the water. Glaives prodded them and struck at them. - (Mariners of Gor)