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The collar of black iron, with its heavy hinge, its riveted closure, its projecting ring of iron, for a chain or padlock, showed black, heavy, against the whiteness of her lovely throat. - (Marauders of Gor, Chapter 13, Sentence #366)

"I am not your Jarl". "But every free man is my Jarl," she said. "You see, my Jarl," said she, lifting her head proudly and pulling her rich, glistening robes some inches down upon her shoulders, "I wear the collar of Ivar Forkbeard". The collar of black iron, with its heavy hinge, its riveted closure, its projecting ring of iron, for a chain or padlock, showed black, heavy, against the whiteness of her lovely throat. "You have dared to collar the daughter of Thorgard of Scagnar!" cried Bera to Ivar Forkbeard. "My master does what he pleases, Lady," said Hilda. I wondered what Bera would say if she knew that Hilda had been put at the oar, and taught to heel; that she had been whipped, and taught to obey; that she had been caressed, and taught to respond. - (Marauders of Gor)