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Better the arms of a master than the cold steel of the ankle ring. - (Outlaw of Gor, Chapter 21, Sentence #238)

Two of the girls, she from Tor and one of the girls from Ar wept, their heads buried in their hands. I wished I had not looked at them. Upon reflection it seemed clear to me that the chain must, in the end, be a lonely place for a girl, filled with life, knowing that her brand has destined her for love, that each of them must long for a man to care enough for them to buy them, that each must long to follow a man home to his compartments, wearing his collar and chains, where they will learn his strength and his heart and will be taught the delights of submission. Better the arms of a master than the cold steel of the ankle ring. When they had said to me, "Buy Me, Master," it had not been simply a ritual phrase. They had wanted to be sold to me—or, I supposed, to any man who would take them from the hated chain of Targo. Targo seemed relieved. - (Outlaw of Gor)