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On my left breast, on its upper portion, inscribed there with a grease pencil, in Gorean, was a number. - (Dancer of Gor, Chapter 8, Sentence #206)

"It smells good," said little Tutina. "Yes, yes!" I said. * * * * I sat on the long, low wooden platform, in the annex to the sales barn, in the exposition area, naked, my feet tucked back, near my left thigh, my ankles crossed, my left hand on my left ankle, my right hand supporting most of my weight, the chain on my neck dropping down to the wood, to my right, then lifting, running back over my thighs, then keeping its rendezvous with its ring, behind me and to my left. On my left breast, on its upper portion, inscribed there with a grease pencil, in Gorean, was a number. I had been told it was "89," and that it was my lot number. After we had eaten this morning, though I, so excited, had scarcely touched food, we were knelt in a line, facing one of the small doors. I had strained to hear the smallest scraps of conversation among our keepers. - (Dancer of Gor)