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"I could not get a copper tarsk for you, as you are". "Forgive me, Master," she said. She was covered with mud to the thighs, and her small tunic was spattered with mud. Rain had soaked her hair, and it lay about her head and shoulders, in scattered, bedraggled, unkempt strands. I stood near one of the halted wagons, which was waiting its turn to try the slope to the valley, beside its rear left axle. Its back was open, and the gate down, and the wagon bed contained a number of packs, including mine. Some fellows were fetching theirs out, with their smaller weapons. - (Smugglers of Gor)