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Would it not be an island of wood, a world of sorts, sufficient onto itself, indefinitely scorning land, cresting indefinitely the dark turbulence of proud, dreadful, beautiful Thassa? "Kneel," said a stern voice, and I instantly knelt. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter 15, Sentence #480)

Better to transport troops, I thought, would be smaller ships, a fleet of such. Who would care to risk an army, perhaps a war, by entrusting it to a single mount, to but one vehicle, to but one vessel? But Thassa, I supposed, vast Thassa, might lift her hand, and smash a fleet as well as a single vessel, and, I suspected, a mighty vessel might brave her wrath where a hundred common barks might perish in the sea. Too, what an enormous store of supplies might be housed in so mighty a vessel, supplies which might last years. Would it not be an island of wood, a world of sorts, sufficient onto itself, indefinitely scorning land, cresting indefinitely the dark turbulence of proud, dreadful, beautiful Thassa? "Kneel," said a stern voice, and I instantly knelt. I felt the boards of the dock on my knees. I kept my head down, and clutched the bota. "Head up," he said, and I was permitted to lift my head. - (Smugglers of Gor)