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I observed the board. I wondered at women. It seems that they, at least on my former world, Earth, claim to wish to relate to, and profess to esteem, as is prescribed for them, only weak men, soft men, little men, pleasant, sensitive, charming, predictable males, insecure, deferential, docile, accommodating fellows, trained to view their masculinity with suspicion and disdain, taught to fear the howling and power of even their diluted blood, conforming fellows zealously, desperately, concerned to treat them with great consideration and solicitude. Yet, in their dreams, it seems they find themselves forced to surrender, totally, to fierce, dominating masters, masters emerging like welcome, long-awaited, long-sought beasts from another reality, imperious, hungry men striding into their lives with ropes and chains, looking for a capture, a woman, themselves, masters who insolently and cruelly, though often with ironic courtesy and tenderness, will exact from their bodies, over a period of hours, every last minute sensation of response of which their bodies are capable, strong men, warriors, who, patiently, permit them no shield, who permit them to withhold nothing, who permit them to save not a particle of their honor, who will force them to yield themselves totally, helplessly, in complete and utter surrender. They then, devastated and vanquished, awed and grateful, know themselves the claimed, unquestioning slaves of such men. Gorean culture, of course, differs greatly from Earth culture. On Gor, for better or for worse, the reality in which a woman, terrified, might find herself is not altogether unlike that of her most feared dreams on Earth, but on Gor it is not a dream; it is as real as the steel of slave bracelets and the commanding touch of a master. - (Hunters of Gor, Chapter )