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No more than a quarter of a cup for each was practical. I made it a point to stand quite close to the sleen master's fellow, he who had accompanied him on his hunt, the hunt in which I had been the prey, which had ended with my capture. How I hated him! But might he not have sought me? Was it only as a fled slave that he had sought me? I did not know. Did his neglect of me in the camp seem too studied? Why was he here? How was it that he, who had first looked upon me, on a far world, and had looked upon me as a man looks upon a slave, the first time to my knowledge that I had been so looked upon, so obviously, and had doubtless figured in my selection for Gorean bondage, had been in Brundisium, and in Shipcamp, and was now here in the forest? Surely he must remember me, I thought. Am I so little, so meaningless to him, that I am only another item of cargo, another naked woman dragged to a sales block? Is this all a coincidence? Does he truly not remember me, me, in whose dreams he has so often appeared, with his insolence and arrogance, and authority, with his whip and chain? I recalled the dock in Shipcamp. Had he truly not recognized me, kneeling at his feet, he who had brought me to a collar, yet a collar I coveted? So he despises me, I thought; so he scorns me, I thought. So then let him find himself where he is, within inches of me, no longer a free woman of Earth, but now, thanks to him, no more than a collared, barefoot, tunic-clad Gorean kajira, a beast who may be bought and sold, one which now, thanks to him, exists only for the service and pleasure of men. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter )