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Did this situation, chained before Tuza, I wondered, give her some sense of what it might be to be a woman before a man, or, say, a slave before a master? I feared Tuza would ram the blade into the former leader, to the hilt. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter 37, Sentence #81)

Tears were in her eyes. She looked then much less like a Panther Woman, than a woman. Darla, I conjectured, in this unexpected, and unusual situation, was suddenly coming to grips with her sex, its slightness, its softness, its helplessness, its weakness, its sensitivity, its limitations, its jeopardy, its fearful and glorious flood of rich and profound emotions, emotions over which she, to her consternation, found she could exercise not the least control, in whose grasp she found herself the lifted and transported prisoner of parts of herself a thousand times stronger than her conscious will, and its depth, its vulnerability, its dependence. Did this situation, chained before Tuza, I wondered, give her some sense of what it might be to be a woman before a man, or, say, a slave before a master? I feared Tuza would ram the blade into the former leader, to the hilt. "Do not kill her!" begged Hiza. "Stand straighter," said Tuza. "Get your back straight, your belly in, your shoulders back, your head up!" Tears in her eyes, Darla obeyed. - (Smugglers of Gor)