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I was sure he would shepherd his men, and nourish them, but, as a dark player might, regarding not only the board, and a particular victory, but the larger game, a different game, one not played on a board. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter 10, Sentence #12)

In a way he was far less dangerous to his men than an idealist or fanatic, who would sacrifice armies and continents to pursue a face in the clouds, a goal he does not even understand, an end which, if achieved, would betray the dreams in terms of which it was sought. Let the idealist and the fanatic curse the inevitable fruits of his success, the brass he took for gold, the unexamined shadow he took for substance, the bright illusion he took for reality; he does not lament the downfall of peoples and states, the carts of bones and the lakes of blood; his grief, rather, is for himself, as the innocent victim of alleged lies and treasons which, had he opened his eyes, would have been as obvious as a cliffs edge. But Tyrtaios was neither an idealist nor fanatic; he was well aware of the balance between means and ends, between resources and their limitations. I was sure he would shepherd his men, and nourish them, but, as a dark player might, regarding not only the board, and a particular victory, but the larger game, a different game, one not played on a board. Tyrtaios would be a practical commander, whose expenditure of men and supplies would be rational, and judicious, and cold. I wondered if Tyrtaios was an Assassin. Assassins are not blinded by dreams. - (Smugglers of Gor)