“I am not a slave,” she said.

“I am not a slave,” she said.
“I understand,” I said.
Certainly she was not a legal slave, or at least not yet. She was not, technically, at least at present, a slave in the eyes of the law, as an animal is an animal in the eyes of the law, a tarsk a tarsk, a vulo, so soft and pretty, a vulo.
“Men are not my masters,” she said.
“I see,” I said.
“How pleased I am that I am not one of those women who must crawl about the feet of men, licking and kissing, and groveling, and begging to be found pleasing!”
“I understand,” I said.

Renegades of Gor, p. 119

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