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We are slaves, and, on the whole, we wish to be slaves, rightless, owned, and mastered. It is our meaning, our fulfillment, our happiness, and joy. Were it not for our terror of free women, who so despise us and who, for some reason, are so unconscionably cruel to us, we might pity them, for they do not know the warmth, the reassurance, and joy of the collar. How wonderful to belong, to be literally owned! And yet, sometimes, too, the collar has its miseries and terrors, for in it we are so vulnerable and helpless! To my left there was a sudden stir, and splash, in the water, and I spun about on the walkway in time to see a large urt submerge, it ears back, its wet, glistening fur slipping beneath the water. I then moved, uneasily, more toward the center of the walkway. I had been to the left, as Goreans keep to the left side of paths, walkways, roads, stairs, and such. In this way, as most Goreans, as most humans, are right-handed, one's weapon hand faces oncoming traffic. - (Quarry of Gor, Chapter )