Harold Lamb,
Marching Sands
(1920)
“ Instantly Gray struck with the other hand. This time his fist traveled farther and Gela fell to the floor. He was up at once, growling angrily. As he rushed, Gray beat him off coolly—short, telling blows that kept him free from the other's grasp. "Ho!" laughed Timur, "which is the bullock now? The man has sharp horns." Gela hesitated, bleeding from nose and mouth. He had never been forced to face a man who was master of such blows. He swayed, gasping with his exertions, his brown head thrust forward from between his wide shoulders. ”
