Kurt the Kassar
The warrior of the Wagon Peoples seldom approaches an enemy more closely than is required to bring him down with the bow, or if need be, the lance; the quiva itself is regarded, on the whole, as more of a missile weapon than a hand knife. I gather that the Wagon Peoples, if they wanted sabers or regarded them as valuable, would be able to acquire them, in spite of the fact that they have no metalworking of their own; there might be some attempt to prevent them from falling into the hands of the Wagon Peoples, but where there are gold and jewels, available merchants in Ar and elsewhere, would see that they were manufactured and reached the southern plains. Most quivas, incidentally, are wrought in the smithies of Ar. (Nomads of Gor)
Between the wagons on the outer peripheries of the large wagon camp, I had walked with T'zuri a little ways before we stopped. She was about to tell me something when a shining flash of metal blazed by and landed with a thud on the hitch of a wagon situated just a few horts between either of us.
I went on talking, pretending I'd neither seen the quiva nor noticed the sudden change on the Singer's expression. And yet no sooner had I glanced down at the quiva, making pointless remarks out loud over someone's carelessness with weapons, I turned swiftly on my heels and hurled it right back at a shadow I'd seen from the corner of my eye.
He cried out with curses and threats against me, though he was momentarily hobbled by the quiva's razored tip imbedded into his thigh. That was when I realized the man knew T'zuri. Moreover... she knew him!
Kurt was his name. Kurt the Kassar. And he had mistakenly assumed the Singer was my woman. Luckily he has poor aim, as I believe his intent was to kill me and run off with the Tuchuk woman.
Humiliated, Kurt limped off into the darkness and disappeared. Although I have a strange feeling it is not the last I shall see of him.
