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If it was the bird I thought it to be, it would not futilely contest the weight of the degrading hobble, would not provide a spectacle of its helplessness for its captors. - (Outlaw of Gor, Chapter 14, Sentence #41)

I examined the glistening, sable plumage; the monstrous yellow beak now cruelly belted together. I saw the great wings snap, smiting the air, the hurricane from their blow spilling slaves into the sand, tangling chains, as the great beast, lifting its head and smelling the open air, struck it with his wings. It would not attempt to fly while hooded; indeed, I doubted that the bird would attempt to fly while it dragged its bar of silver. If it was the bird I thought it to be, it would not futilely contest the weight of the degrading hobble, would not provide a spectacle of its helplessness for its captors. I know this sounds strange, but I believe some animals have pride, and if any did, I knew that this monster was one of them. "Stand back," cried one of the men with a whip. I jerked the whip from his hand, and with my arm struck him aside. - (Outlaw of Gor)