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"We must, for the time, deny them to ourselves," I said. "There is the work of men to be done". "When do you think the fleet of Ragnar Voskjard will arrive at the holding," he asked. "Tomorrow," I told him. We then looked, one last time, upon the fair slaves so securely incarcerated below us. I think he looked upon the auburn-haired beauty, in the bit of yellow rag. I myself regarded the small brunette, so frightened and exquisite, in the bit of red rag, curled pathetically, a slave, on the tiles below. - (Guardsman of Gor)