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Were he not here he would be safe, at least for a time, from the steel of my master, Tyrtaios, he of the dark caste. - (Plunder of Gor, Chapter 27, Sentence #39)

What I did not understand was why my master had said I would be unable to help myself, why he thought that I could not help but identify Kurik of Victoria. Surely I need only pretend I had not recognized him. I hoped, but did not hope, that Kurik of Victoria was not even in Brundisium. Were he not here he would be safe, at least for a time, from the steel of my master, Tyrtaios, he of the dark caste. But, too, my heart ached for the sight of him, his proud, splendid form, his easy carriage, the narrowness of his waist, the strength of his arms, the width of his chest, the breadth of his shoulders, his frank, piercing gaze before which, now, I feared I could not remain standing, even had I desired to do so. Were he not in danger, I would have cast myself to my belly before him, and kissed and licked his feet and ankles, begging forgiveness for not having been sufficiently pleasing. I recalled I had, in Victoria, cried out my love for him, a slave's love for her master. - (Plunder of Gor)