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He well knew how to keep us in our place, did he not? And what a rich joke, I had thought, this was doubtless supposed to be, that I would find myself here, his "modern woman," in a place where really, more appropriately, and usually, not women, but tarsks, were sold! It was this place, I had surmised, thinking I had penetrated his joke, where he had planned to reclaim me, I suddenly finding myself again in his power, that of the house of Teibar, and in a very complex of his, "where women such as I might be bought and sold". Surely he had planned this coup, this joyful, lovely trick, his master's jest, so rich and delicious, even from the time of the library on Earth, even from the time the conical, stiff, rubberized mask had been placed over my nose and mouth. We were kneeling, facing one of the small doors. "Heads to the dirt!" called a man. Swiftly we assumed a common form of slave obeisance, kneeling, the palms of our hands on the ground, our heads to the ground. Many masters, though it tends to be rather associated, usually, with given cities, require this position of their girls, usually when they first enter his presence, or find themselves, as in a room which he has entered, in his presence. She is then, usually, when given permission, permitted to lift her head, but is to remain kneeling before him, beautifully, in a standard position, her knees closed if she is a house or tower slave, her knees open, if she was the sort of slave I was, whatever sort of slave that was supposed to be. - (Dancer of Gor)