"“Look at them. Ranks, files,” he said, waving a hand over the little stone figures, “locked in everlasting conflict at the whim of the player. They fight, they fall, and they cannot turn back because the whips drive them on, and all they know is whips, kill or be killed. Darkness in front of them, darkness behind them, darkness and whips in their heads. But what if you could take one out of this game, get him before the whips do, take him to a place without whips—what might he become? One creature. One singular being. Would you deny them that chance?” “You had three men hanged last week,” said Ridcully, without quite understanding why. “They had their chances. They used them to kill, and worse. All we get is a chance.” (p. 53)"