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I could see, over the wagon box, the broad, arched back of the plodding tharlarion which was drawing the wagon. - (Conspirators of Gor, Chapter 16, Sentence #156)

But if one were a slave, why should one not be a slave? Is there not a freedom, a liberation, a relief, in such an acknowledgement? Are the miseries of a free woman so superior to the joys of a mastered, loving slave? Let each consider the matter for herself. With two hands, he thrust open the canvas curtains at the head of the wagon and light, and fresh air, surged into that narrow, rectangular, hitherto oppressive wood-and-canvas enclosure. I blinked against the light. I could see, over the wagon box, the broad, arched back of the plodding tharlarion which was drawing the wagon. It was tied by its nose ring to the back of the preceding wagon. Its reins were looped about a hook to the left of the wagon box. The Metal Worker, if that were indeed his caste, was on the Teamster's bench, which was, too, the lid of the wagon box. - (Conspirators of Gor)