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He wore the somber robes and dark chaplet of the others but seemed more dour, more formidable, more terrible, surely in a way the others did not. - (Plunder of Gor, Chapter 25, Sentence #35)

"Rather," said Tyrtaios, "one is unwilling to allow certain skills to languish". There was a sudden cry of pain, short, and ugly, from the sand, and I looked about, wildly, suddenly, startled, back to the sand, and then turned away, and put down my head, covering my eyes with my hands. "Light the torches, the lamps," said a fellow from a table across the sand. He wore the somber robes and dark chaplet of the others but seemed more dour, more formidable, more terrible, surely in a way the others did not. I had seen him enter the room, and the others, including my master, Tyrtaios, had stood, acknowledging his presence, and did not resume their positions until he had taken his place on his couch, a higher couch than the others. I gathered his presence was not usual in this place, but that he was a guest of sorts, perhaps a visitor to these precincts. In entering, he had passed closely to me, so closely that his somber robe had touched me, and I had drawn back, chilled. - (Plunder of Gor)