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"Behold the object now for sale," called the auctioneer, "a comely red-silk barbarian! Note the sweetness of her thighs, the curvature of her calves, and the slimness of her ankles, ready for the clasping of your shackles. - (Quarry of Gor, Chapter 3, Sentence #285)

I recalled the other slaves, thrashing and weeping in their cells and kennels. No longer did I have dignity, prestige, respect, or independence. I was now only a needful, collared slave. "Behold the object now for sale," called the auctioneer, "a comely red-silk barbarian! Note the sweetness of her thighs, the curvature of her calves, and the slimness of her ankles, ready for the clasping of your shackles. Imagine her heeling you in the street, hurrying behind you, barefoot, in her tiny tunic, your collar on her neck, kneeling at your side, on her leash, lying beside you when you read!" "A copper tarsk, seventy!" called a fellow. "Why not a tiny yellow tunic?" said the auctioneer. "Yellow would go nicely with her dark hair". - (Quarry of Gor)