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"They are hunting sleen, not war sleen," said a soldier. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 27, Sentence #2001)

"Do you expect them to come back and report?" asked the officer. "We have no scent to put them on. I doubt they would leave the camp". "They are hunting sleen, not war sleen," said a soldier. Ellen, frightened, shuddered, considering the uses to which trained sleen might be put, such as tracking, hunting, herding, guarding, killing. She knew they were sometimes sent after runaway slaves, usually with the kill command after an escaped male slave, commonly with the herding command for a female runaway, that she may be returned, stumbling, gasping, exhausted, helpless and driven, bleeding, scratched, lacerated, back to the feet of her master, where she might clutch his ankles and beg weepingly that she not be now fed to those tyrannical, inexorable beasts who have ushered her so swiftly and unerringly back to her fate, the mercies of her master. "If I were you," said Portus Canio to the officer, "I would kill, or secure, the beasts". - (Prize of Gor)