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There were no sails, no distant particles of yellow canvas, bespeaking the ships of Tyros, that cluttered that incredible vast margin, the meeting place of the great elements of the sky and the sea. - (Hunters of Gor, Chapter 18, Sentence #26)

I had permitted them to do so. I scanned the breadth of the western horizon. Beyond the breakers, and the white caps, there was only the calm placid line of gleaming Thassa, its vastness untroubled, meeting the bright, hard blue sky in a lonely plane, as unbroken and simple as the mark of a geometer's straight edge. There were no sails, no distant particles of yellow canvas, bespeaking the ships of Tyros, that cluttered that incredible vast margin, the meeting place of the great elements of the sky and the sea. The horizon was empty. Somewhere men strained at oars. Somewhere, how far away I knew not, the strike of the hammer of the keleustes governed the stroke of those great sweeping levers, the oars of the Rhoda, and doubtless, not more than fifty yards abeam, those, too, of the light galley, the Tesephone, she of Port Kar. - (Hunters of Gor)