“Why do we not then enslave her?” asked Publius.

“Why do we not then enslave her?” asked Publius. “No, Lady Lita,” he said, “do not rise to your feet.” I had almost leapt up. My wrists wildly, suddenly, had jerked against the bracelets. They had not yielded, of course. They were not made to yield. I knelt back then, in the light, on my heels.
“It would not be difficult,” said Publius. “We could transport her from the city. Then, elsewhere, when she is suitably branded, and her neck is locked in a proper collar, when she is fully and inescapably a slave, absolutely rightless, and in your power, we might make test of the matter.”
“This woman is not a slave,” said Drusus Rencius.
“A silver tarsk says she is,” laughed Publius.

I knelt in the light, braceleted, and was seldom, I think, in their mind or attention. Once I noticed that my knees had opened somewhat, without my really thinking about it. I quickly closed them. I hoped no one had noticed. I wondered if I was a slave. Publius thought so, and he was a slaver. He had been willing to put a silver tarsk on the matter. I looked at Drusus. Something in me seemed to say, “You lose your tarsk, Drusus Rencius. She is a slave.”

Kajira of Gor, p. 232-233

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