“Five copper tarsks,” said the man.

“Five copper tarsks,” said the man.
“But consider her lineaments,” said the dealer, “her flanks, her wrists, her shoulders, her throat.”
“I am not looking for a pleasure slave,” he said. “I am buying work slaves, to sell south of the Vosk.”
“Even a work slave may be attractive,” said the dealer. “Forty copper tarsks.”
“Perhaps ten,” he said.
“You carry a whip,” said the dealer. “May I inquire your caste?”
“The blue-and-yellow caste,” he said.
“I suspected as much,” said the dealer. “You are then a shrewd judge of collar meat, a skilled appraiser of girl stock. Surely then you must recognize that forty copper tarsks is a splendid buy for this lovely beast.”
“Ten,” said the man.
“What of thirty?” inquired the dealer.
“I do not need to buy, not here,” said the man. “Ten.”
“Thirty does not seem unreasonable,” said the dealer.
“Ten,” said the man. “I would hope to sell her for thirty.”
“Would you consider twenty?” asked the dealer.

“Twenty copper tarsks,” said the fellow with the whip, now, again, somewhere before me.
“Done!” said the dealer, pleased. “I will call for the scales.”

Plunder of Gor, p. 86

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