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I remember little about my sale, until near the last, the straw, the block, the torches to the left and right, the darkness in the house, the sense of faces and bodies, the calls of the auctioneer, the occasional responses from the house, the touches of the whip, helping me, guiding me, turning me, lifting my chin, and such. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter 5, Sentence #259)

The face value of a coin is meaningless. The coin is worth only what it will buy This is obvious, but many on my former world, oddly enough, seem unaware of this. They demand a hundred coins and think themselves ten times advanced for they formerly had but ten, and refuse to notice that their hundred today buys only what five bought once. I remember little about my sale, until near the last, the straw, the block, the torches to the left and right, the darkness in the house, the sense of faces and bodies, the calls of the auctioneer, the occasional responses from the house, the touches of the whip, helping me, guiding me, turning me, lifting my chin, and such. I was too frightened, too tense, I fear, to smile, to display myself well. But he did not whip me. How understanding he was, how kind! Then he grasped me by the hair, and held my head back. - (Smugglers of Gor)