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I blew a note on the whistle, and it was shrill and different, of a new pitch from that of the Old Tarl. - (Tarnsman of Gor, Chapter 3, Sentence #279)

If I was to die, it would be; if I was not to die, I would not. I smiled to myself in spite of my fear, amused at the remark I had addressed to myself. It sounded like something out of the Code of the Warrior, something which, if taken literally, would seem to encourage its believer to take not the slightest or most sane precautions for his safety. I blew a note on the whistle, and it was shrill and different, of a new pitch from that of the Old Tarl. Almost immediately from somewhere, perhaps from a ledge out of sight, rose a fantastic object, another giant tarn, even larger than the first, a glossy sable tarn which circled the cylinder once and then wheeled toward me, landing a few feet away, his talons striking on the roof with a sound like hurled gauntlets. His talons were shod with steel—a war tarn. He raised his curved beak to the sky and screamed, lifting and shaking his wings. - (Tarnsman of Gor)