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Now, as I was being marched through streets I could not see, naked, back-braceleted, a bead fastened in this small slaver's necklace, the wind and sunlight on my bared body, I knew I was being taken, for the first time, to market, a market where I would not buy but be bought, as much as a verr, or a basket of suls. - (Conspirators of Gor, Chapter 8, Sentence #61)

Whether I might kiss my fingertips and press them to my collar, or sob and scream, and try to tear it from my neck, it was on me. And my thigh was marked, with the Kef, the most common slave brand on Gor, a mark which showed all who might look upon it what I was, and only was, kajira. Still I had not thought, actively, or very actively, of being sold. Now, as I was being marched through streets I could not see, naked, back-braceleted, a bead fastened in this small slaver's necklace, the wind and sunlight on my bared body, I knew I was being taken, for the first time, to market, a market where I would not buy but be bought, as much as a verr, or a basket of suls. Still I was delighted to be out of the house. I wondered who might buy me. I was soon to be owned, the property of a particular master. - (Conspirators of Gor)