“Who owns you?” I asked. “I do not know,” she said

“Who owns you?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said, “doubtless some renter of Coin Girls. I was apportioned to him in the division of the spoils taken from the holding of Policrates.”
“What does he look like?” I asked.
“I do not know,” she said. “I have never even seen him.”
“What manner of man is he?” I asked.
“He is harsh and cruel, uncompromising and merciless,” she said.
“He keeps me well as a slave.”
“Do you fear him?” I asked.
“I fear him terribly,” she said.
“I am his girl.”
“Perhaps he merely wishes you to learn that you are a slave,” I said.
“He has taught it to me well,” she said.
“He does not sound like such a bad fellow,” I said.
“If I owned you, I might treat you similarly, at least at first.”
“Until I had learned well to whom I belong?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“And what if a girl is incapable of learning her lesson?” she asked.
“She may always, then,” I said, “be fed to sleen.”

Guardsmen of Gor, p. 234

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