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What do free women know of the weight of chains, and their sound, of the feel of one's limbs bound back, coarsely, with rough rope, of one's wrists thonged quickly, snugly, behind one's back, of the clasp of slave bracelets, of the feel of the floor on one's bared knees, of the feel of the whip to one's lips and tongue, as one performs whip-love before the master, rendering to a symbol of his mastery its due reverence and homage? And, of course, there is, too, taste, that of the bit forced back, between her teeth, and fastened there, of the gag, the disgusting horror of slave wine, the delicious releaser, inspiring terror, the taste of simple, plain food, perhaps from a pan on the floor, when one is hungry, its quantity well monitored, the spoonful of ka-la-na for which she has begged, the joy of savoring a tiny, hard candy thrown to her, or fed to her by hand, for which she has waited long. - (Mariners of Gor, Chapter 10, Sentence #74)

And how beautiful are the towers against the evening, stormy sky, the light of Tor-tu-Gor half hidden in the dark clouds. Did she never notice before the stateliness of a kaiila's gait, that sinuous movement of a sleen's spine, as it moves, avoiding open spaces, the tidelike mightiness of a tarn's wing, as it preens. And the world becomes so rich, too, to the touch, to the fingertips, the feet, the lips, the body. What do free women know of the weight of chains, and their sound, of the feel of one's limbs bound back, coarsely, with rough rope, of one's wrists thonged quickly, snugly, behind one's back, of the clasp of slave bracelets, of the feel of the floor on one's bared knees, of the feel of the whip to one's lips and tongue, as one performs whip-love before the master, rendering to a symbol of his mastery its due reverence and homage? And, of course, there is, too, taste, that of the bit forced back, between her teeth, and fastened there, of the gag, the disgusting horror of slave wine, the delicious releaser, inspiring terror, the taste of simple, plain food, perhaps from a pan on the floor, when one is hungry, its quantity well monitored, the spoonful of ka-la-na for which she has begged, the joy of savoring a tiny, hard candy thrown to her, or fed to her by hand, for which she has waited long. The slave girl knows many small, homely joys, and appreciates them, and treasures them, in ways the haughty free woman, secure in station and status, can only mock. But let her wear the collar and she will soon become aware of the preciousness of tiny things, wondrous, marvelous tiny things, longed for and hoped for, things which she might, hitherto, have held in disdain or contempt. It is little wonder that the female slave, owned, and mastered, is alive in a thousand ways undivulged to her free sister. - (Mariners of Gor, Chapter 10)