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"Be silent, slave," said I, poking about, and then I saw in the bottom of the chest, almost colorless, ragged, not more than a foot high nor a few ounces heavy, a small worn, tattered doll, dressed in faded Robes of Concealment, of a sort little girls might play with on the bridges or in the corridors of cylinders, dressing it or singing to it. - (Assassin of Gor, Chapter 17, Sentence #597)

That I was forced to admit. Were they her own, she would have been the envy of many of the free women of Ar. "Do not look further!" she cried. "Be silent, slave," said I, poking about, and then I saw in the bottom of the chest, almost colorless, ragged, not more than a foot high nor a few ounces heavy, a small worn, tattered doll, dressed in faded Robes of Concealment, of a sort little girls might play with on the bridges or in the corridors of cylinders, dressing it or singing to it. "What is this?" I asked in amusement, lifting it up and turning to face Sura. With a cry of rage the Pleasure Slave ran past me and tore the slave goad from the wall, flicked it to on. I saw the dial rotate to the end of the red band, to the Kill Point. - (Assassin of Gor)