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"You," she might have said, but it was only her lips that formed the word. - (Mariners of Gor, Chapter 8, Sentence #125)

What male does not sense the vulnerable, inviting nakedness of a slave within a woman's assorted garmentures, no matter how contrived and pretentious? And do not even free women sense that men see them thusly, see them exposed beneath their robes, see them as they would be without them, as they might be, say, were they commanded to put them aside, or as they might be, say, were they torn away? When they sense themselves under the scrutiny of men, do they not turn nicely, and stand well, and pose, and display themselves as the goods they know themselves to be? Surely they are aware, in some way, that they are slaves, and belong to men. What do they need then, but the chain, the block, the auctioneer's cry? She turned about, frightened, the vessel of steaming black wine, wrapped in its thick cloths, from the wool of the bounding hurt, held in two hands. Yes, it was she, at last! What could be special about her, only a slave? Doubtless only the gold she might bring, were I to cast her to her knees, shackled and naked, before Marlenus of Ar. "You," she might have said, but it was only her lips that formed the word. I was annoyed. I pointed to the deck, sternly. Did she not know she was in the presence of a free man? Swiftly she fell to her knees, and put her head down. - (Mariners of Gor)