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No delicate, sauced portion of filet mignon which I had savored in any Parisian restaurant compared to that hot, steaming chunk of bosk, half raw, running with juices, that I had seized from the grass of a Gorean field, beside the wagon of a slaver. - (Captive of Gor, Chapter 7, Sentence #181)

I was famished and, burning my fingers, I clutched at it, and, half-choking, thrust it half into my mouth, tearing at it with my teeth and hands, the juices running at the sides of my mouth. I think few of my friends would have recognized the sophisticated, tasteful Elinor Brinton in the naked Gorean slave girl, chained, kneeling on the grass, thrusting meat into her mouth, tearing at it, her head back in ecstasy, feeding, the juices of the meat running on her body. It was only roast bosk, and half raw, but I devoured it. No delicate, sauced portion of filet mignon which I had savored in any Parisian restaurant compared to that hot, steaming chunk of bosk, half raw, running with juices, that I had seized from the grass of a Gorean field, beside the wagon of a slaver. Following our meal we were taken to a nearby stream where we washed ourselves. I was reluctant to enter the water but, at a word from Targo, I immersed myself, shuddering, teeth chattering, in the swift, chill stream. In a few moments I became accustomed to the water, and soon was reluctant to leave it. - (Captive of Gor)