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From the pommel of one saddle, seemingly not that of a guard, but perhaps of a civilian or merchant's agent accompanying the caravan, there looped downward a light, graceful chain to the throat of a naked, blond slave. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 29, Sentence #19)

All of her was slave, and belonged to her master. There were pack kaiila aplenty with the caravan, in files, most roped together, but, too, there was a long train of wagons, behind, some open and some closed. A caravan this size, she conjectured, would not be the property of a single merchant, but doubtless of a number of merchants leagued together, traveling thusly for purposes of safety in what were doubtless unsettled, dangerous, troubled times. From the pommel of one saddle, seemingly not that of a guard, but perhaps of a civilian or merchant's agent accompanying the caravan, there looped downward a light, graceful chain to the throat of a naked, blond slave. She walked proudly. How beautiful she is, thought Ellen. Their eyes met. - (Prize of Gor)