“Persinna!” I called to a shapely slave
“Persinna!” I called to a shapely slave, in a brief gray tunic, with a tiny, locked message box, chained to her collar. Her eyes were suddenly wild with fear.
“Be silent!” she said, looking about her. “Do not speak that name, I beg of you.”
“Do you not remember me?” I said. “I am Allison. We were sold together, in the Metellan district.”
“I am not Persinna,” she said.
“You are, or were,” I said.
“You see my tunic!” she said. “I am a state slave. I am owned by the state of Ar!”
Conspirators of Gor, p. 266