The brightly burnished barrels spun, like the revolving spokes of a chariot wheel.

As the wooden barrel spun at 60 miles per hour, Mrs. Marek said she slid down the wall toward the metal floor 10 feet below.

The Gattler's barrels spun again.

Chrome barrels spun, set for cutting beam, medium power, narrow distribution.

A barrel spun into firing position.

The barrels spun, rotating over one another like eggbeater blades, accompanied with a short, sharp, buzzsaw shriek.

The barrel spun madly about, tipping every which way as the pounding waters bounced it back and forth.

The barrel bounced and spun again before landing with another painful jolt against something hard and unyielding.

The barrel teetered and spun, rattling the swords inside, before settling with a final clank.

The commissioner looked down the barrel of the big Desert Eagle, then spun to the filing cabinet behind his desk.