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Often the urts, those tiny, swift, sleek, furtive rodents, bold in their familiarity with, and seemingly assumed privileges in, the place, would rush to food before we could reach it and, almost at our cheek, snatch it up and scurry away to their holes, through the narrowly spaced bars and small crevices. - (Dancer of Gor, Chapter 6, Sentence #253)

In this cell we bedded on damp straw, cast over the stone. Our food, in the temporary light of lamps or lanterns, was thrown from pails to us, garbage perhaps, from the meals of others, and we could not, under penalties of the whip, use our hands to retrieve it. Too, as we soon discovered, we were not the only denizens of that place. Often the urts, those tiny, swift, sleek, furtive rodents, bold in their familiarity with, and seemingly assumed privileges in, the place, would rush to food before we could reach it and, almost at our cheek, snatch it up and scurry away to their holes, through the narrowly spaced bars and small crevices. They would come at night, too. It was hard to sleep, for one might suddenly, unexpectedly, scamper over one's body. Too, one would be awakened by other girls, screaming, or crying out hysterically, at the sounds, or movements, or touches in the darkness of the tiny beasts. - (Dancer of Gor, Chapter 6)