“And, one supposes, as helpless, vulnerable vessels of pleasure,” she said.

“Yes,” I said, “as helpless, vulnerable vessels of pleasure, vessels of inordinate pleasure.”

“As animals, whom you use as you wish?” she said.

“Of course,” I said.

“Men are beasts,” she said.

“They are what they are,” I said. “And on Gor they do not pretend to be what they are not.”

Her hand went, inadvertently, not really thinking much about it, to her throat. She could not remove the light, flat, slender metal band which encircled it, attractively, closely.

“Gor is lovely,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, looking out, over the sea.

“Sometimes the Priest-Kings,” I said, “as a most cruel punishment, condemn an individual to Earth.”

“Condemn?”

“Precisely.”

“Those of Earth are unaware of the nature of their world,” she said.

“They do not much mind it,” I said, “for they have known nothing else, nothing better. But the poor man, or woman, who is sent to Earth from Gor, they well understand the harshness of their sentence.”

“I suppose they, their lesson learned, must hope in time for mercy, a pardon, a reprieve?” she said.

“Some are sentenced for life,” I said.

“I am much pleased to be here,” she said.

“Even as you are?” I asked.

“Certainly,” she said.

She was well legged, sweetly hipped, narrow waisted, and well breasted. I did not think she would need be disappointed at the price that would be likely to take her off the block.

She was the sort of woman who was eminently purchasable.

The block was designed with such as she in mind.

“Even as what you are?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Yes! Yes! Extremely so! And particularly and appropriately so!”

“It is right for you?”

“Yes, and perfectly so!” she said.