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Some, I was sure, saw through the conditioning regimens to which, even as children, they had been uniformly and persistently subjected. Some, I supposed, might upon occasion hear, perhaps in still hours, far off, old songs, the songs of the hunt, of capture, of victory, of the heart. The howling of denied genetic beasts, like the cries of imprisoned wolves, might upon occasion drift across the ice of the winter night. Too, the men of gor were human, certainly derived from Earth stock, brought perhaps long ago to this world, in the Voyages of Acquisition, when Priest-Kings, the golden lords of gor, were still young, and curious, about the universe and its vast and mysterious contents. The differences then between the men of gor and those of Earth, I supposed, would be less genetic than cultural. Every plant, every seed, every bacterium has a nature, its own. How odd it would be if man had no nature, but was unique in the universe, in being an empty vessel to be filled with ideology, an amorphous handful of clay to be molded into shapes, however bizarre, by the self-serving sculptors of society. - (Savages of Gor, Chapter )