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"We of Tharna," said the Tatrix, "think so little of riches that we use them to yoke slaves". - (Outlaw of Gor, Chapter 11, Sentence #48)

"Is it thus, Stranger," she asked, her tones cold, "that you expected to carry from the city the wealth of Tharna?" I was puzzled, my body was racked with pain, my vision was blurred with sweat. "The yoke is of silver," said she, "from the mines of Tharna". I was stunned, for if the yoke were truly of silver, the metal on my shoulders might have ransomed a Ubar. "We of Tharna," said the Tatrix, "think so little of riches that we use them to yoke slaves". My angry glare told her that I did not consider myself a slave. From the curule chair beside the throne rose another woman, wearing an intricately wrought silver mask and magnificent robes of rich silver cloth. She stood haughtily beside the Tatrix, the expressionless silver mask gleaming down at me, hideous in the torchlight it reflected. - (Outlaw of Gor)