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I, pack in hand, looked down to the Alexandra, lovely, wide and shimmering, in the morning light, to the huge, partially dismantled framework of mighty Tur beams, to the long dock, with its many sheds, and the broad, towering vessel which was moored there, held in place by gently, strained lines, against the current, its lofty bowsprit high, lifted, like the alert head of a living thing, one waiting to be born, one already scenting the faraway sea. - (Smugglers of Gor, Chapter 16, Sentence #160)

This arrangement, however, was not that unprecedented with private slaves, slaves owned by individuals. I found myself wondering, not that I was interested, if a particular slave was now a private slave, or, so to speak, a public, or camp, slave, like most. Presumably she would be a public, or camp, slave, as she had been embarked as such. I, pack in hand, looked down to the Alexandra, lovely, wide and shimmering, in the morning light, to the huge, partially dismantled framework of mighty Tur beams, to the long dock, with its many sheds, and the broad, towering vessel which was moored there, held in place by gently, strained lines, against the current, its lofty bowsprit high, lifted, like the alert head of a living thing, one waiting to be born, one already scenting the faraway sea. "Doubtless she is here," said Asperiche. "Who?" I asked. "She whom you seek," she said. - (Smugglers of Gor)