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That had been her fate. Here, on the different, alien, exotic, perilous, primitive, cruel, beautiful world of Gor, she was no more than a collared slave, an item of lovely merchandise, at the mercy of the wealth and steel of powerful, lustful men. I trust that she now understood this more clearly. "Remember Klima," I said. She put down her head. She did not even bother trying the leather. She knew herself secured, a slave girl bound helplessly as a warrior's prize, awaiting her disposition, as much as a tarsk or kaiila, a disposition contingent on the outcome of the harsh games of men. - (Tribesmen of Gor)