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'I'm sorry about your father,' I said.

'He was a Ubar of Ubars,' she said. She hesitated for a moment. 'The life of a Ubar is uncertain.' She gazed thoughtfully at the grass. 'He must have known it would
happen sometime.'

'Did he speak to you about it?' I asked.

She tossed her head back and laughed. 'Are you of Gor or not? I have never seen my father except on the days of public festivals. High Caste daughters in Ar are raised in the Walled Gardens, like flowers, until some highborn suitor, preferably a Ubar or Administrator, will pay the bride price set by their fathers.'

'You mean you never knew your father?' I asked.

'Is it different in your city, Warrior?'

'Yes,' I said, remembering that in Ko-ro-ba, primitive though it was, the family was respected and maintained. I then wondered if that might be due to the influence of my father, whose Earth ways sometimes seemed at variance with the rude customs of Gor.
- Tarnsman

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