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The stranger handed me the scrap of cloth, which would be a typical slave tunic. - (Mariners of Gor, Chapter 37, Sentence #246)

But the simple words of Captain Nakamura, I thought, even more than a darkening cloud, had engloomed the chamber. It was as though they had enkindled a mysterious lamp, a lamp of memory, which, when lit, emitted not light, but darkness, fear, and cold. Where there had been warmth, light, joy, touching, and love, there was now a dampness, as of the dungeon, a darkness as of caverns, a polar chill, the coldness of fearful order, of propriety, of a vision of justice, as unwelcome as the touch of a snake at night. The stranger handed me the scrap of cloth, which would be a typical slave tunic. He retained the sirik. I myself had no doubt that the slave, appropriately on her knees before her master, the stranger, had once been highly placed in Ar, and perhaps a conspirator in the treason that had betrayed that city into the hands of Cos, Tyros, and several of the free companies. The stranger looked down on the slave, and she shrank small before him. - (Mariners of Gor)