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I began to sweat. - (Dancer of Gor, Chapter 6, Sentence #349)

I did not know for certain, of course, because of my hooding, whether or not there might have been a man in the cage with us, a guard, perhaps, or even, say, an unhooded female slave, one of the instructresses, for example, perhaps charged to observe our deportment. But I did not think so. Too, I was sure the cage had been covered, as I had heard the drawings-down, and tightening, of canvas, and its bucklings, but, to be sure, there might have been a flap, or peephole, or something, perhaps behind the wagon box, from which, from time to time, we might have been observed. I began to sweat. I had been lashed earlier, across the back of the calves, for an imperfect posture or carriage. I hoped I would not, now, be punished, after the wagon stopped, for some similar breach of beauty or decorum. I pulled at the manacles. - (Dancer of Gor)