“Learn quickly! You cost me a fortune.
Two fortunes. You will please him—even if his only enjoyment is watching you die.”
Oola had only two hopes left: to escape from this palace of death or, barring that, to die cleanly and well, and escape that way.
Fortuna was the only person inside who spoke her language. The thought made her unbearably lonely. Master Fortuna sat at an alcove table, draping his lekku over the shoulders of Melina Carniss–a human dancer, dark-haired and almost pretty.
Jabba’s tail twitched. Oola wrapped her arms around her ankles.
She’d learned only a few words of Huttese (“no,”
“please no,” and “emphatically no”), but she was getting very good at reading the Hutt’s body language. Some thought had just pleased him.
An ancient free-verse song sprang to her mind: “Only a criminal prefers survival to honor. Love life too much, and you’ll lose the best reason for living.”
She’d learned that song as a child. Life was dangerous. Oola desired life like water and she meant to drink death like wine, deeply and quickly.
But not too soon.
Then she heard what had already excited Jabba: struggling and shouting noises drifted down the entry stair. She could barely hear them through her headpiece.
She’d seen Master Fortuna display the studded leather band to Jabba, speaking Huttese and stroking one knobby protrusion with a sharpened claw. Then he buckled it under her chin, the finishing touch on her costume.
Metal knobs on the headpiece protruded through leather into her delicate ears, blocking all but the loudest noises—such as Max Rebo’s contemptible singer Sy Snootles, and Jabba’s abhorrent invitations.
She raised her head to stare toward the entry. All around the throne, in dark recesses and corners of Jabba’s sand-strewn floor, courtiers roused from their daily business. Bib Fortuna turned toward mid-floor, then rose and glided forward.
Once she’d admired him. Now she despised his obsequious shuffling and the touch of his claw-fingered hands.
Two tusked Gamorrean guards dragged in a struggling creature.
Although half the size of either guard, the prisoner jumped left and right, desperately kicking the thick hide of their knees. Whenever a kick landed, the Gamorrean whuffled. She guessed that was their laughter.
Jabba yanked Oola’s chain. Choked, she fell back against gooey flesh. A warty, vestigial hand grasped her sensitive left lek from behind and stroked it.
Jabba rumbled at his luckless new captive. One Gamorrean seized its roughly woven brown robe by the collar and yanked it off, revealing a scrawny creature with a shrunken face and glowing yellow eyes. He babbled atJabba in a quick, high voice. Jabba belched something that sounded like a command. From behind the hideous guards scuttled a squatty crustacean with four green-shelled legs. Several courtiers recoiled from it; others edged forward. Even Master Fortuna kept a respectful distance.
The crustacean brandished a forefoot. Two pairs of pincers snapped open. A straight, slim talon protruded between each pair of claws. One talon glistened wetly. The prisoner shrank down and screamed.
Jabba’s rumbling laugh vibrated his belly. Oola trembled. She hadn’t slept in two nights; if this went on much longer, she’d be too tired to escape if she got the chance. Jabba’s exclusively chained dancing girls must live short, miserable lives. The ancient song haunted her: “lose your best reason for living…”
As the captive cowered, the crustacean’s twin claw seized his upper arm.
Pincers clamped. The captive shrieked again, a long, thin screech that arched Oola’s neck. She spun around, pushed her face into fetid hide, and then scrambled up Jabba’s hideous midsection.
Momentarily she forgot the rotten flesh under her bare arms and legs.
Jabba chuckled but loosened her chain, possibly the better to concentrate on his victim’s last agony.
Oola slithered down Jabba’s other side,
Two fortunes. You will please him—even if his only enjoyment is watching you die.”
Oola had only two hopes left: to escape from this palace of death or, barring that, to die cleanly and well, and escape that way.
Fortuna was the only person inside who spoke her language. The thought made her unbearably lonely. Master Fortuna sat at an alcove table, draping his lekku over the shoulders of Melina Carniss–a human dancer, dark-haired and almost pretty.
Jabba’s tail twitched. Oola wrapped her arms around her ankles.
She’d learned only a few words of Huttese (“no,”
“please no,” and “emphatically no”), but she was getting very good at reading the Hutt’s body language. Some thought had just pleased him.
An ancient free-verse song sprang to her mind: “Only a criminal prefers survival to honor. Love life too much, and you’ll lose the best reason for living.”
She’d learned that song as a child. Life was dangerous. Oola desired life like water and she meant to drink death like wine, deeply and quickly.
But not too soon.
Then she heard what had already excited Jabba: struggling and shouting noises drifted down the entry stair. She could barely hear them through her headpiece.
She’d seen Master Fortuna display the studded leather band to Jabba, speaking Huttese and stroking one knobby protrusion with a sharpened claw. Then he buckled it under her chin, the finishing touch on her costume.
Metal knobs on the headpiece protruded through leather into her delicate ears, blocking all but the loudest noises—such as Max Rebo’s contemptible singer Sy Snootles, and Jabba’s abhorrent invitations.
She raised her head to stare toward the entry. All around the throne, in dark recesses and corners of Jabba’s sand-strewn floor, courtiers roused from their daily business. Bib Fortuna turned toward mid-floor, then rose and glided forward.
Once she’d admired him. Now she despised his obsequious shuffling and the touch of his claw-fingered hands.
Two tusked Gamorrean guards dragged in a struggling creature.
Although half the size of either guard, the prisoner jumped left and right, desperately kicking the thick hide of their knees. Whenever a kick landed, the Gamorrean whuffled. She guessed that was their laughter.
Jabba yanked Oola’s chain. Choked, she fell back against gooey flesh. A warty, vestigial hand grasped her sensitive left lek from behind and stroked it.
Jabba rumbled at his luckless new captive. One Gamorrean seized its roughly woven brown robe by the collar and yanked it off, revealing a scrawny creature with a shrunken face and glowing yellow eyes. He babbled atJabba in a quick, high voice. Jabba belched something that sounded like a command. From behind the hideous guards scuttled a squatty crustacean with four green-shelled legs. Several courtiers recoiled from it; others edged forward. Even Master Fortuna kept a respectful distance.
The crustacean brandished a forefoot. Two pairs of pincers snapped open. A straight, slim talon protruded between each pair of claws. One talon glistened wetly. The prisoner shrank down and screamed.
Jabba’s rumbling laugh vibrated his belly. Oola trembled. She hadn’t slept in two nights; if this went on much longer, she’d be too tired to escape if she got the chance. Jabba’s exclusively chained dancing girls must live short, miserable lives. The ancient song haunted her: “lose your best reason for living…”
As the captive cowered, the crustacean’s twin claw seized his upper arm.
Pincers clamped. The captive shrieked again, a long, thin screech that arched Oola’s neck. She spun around, pushed her face into fetid hide, and then scrambled up Jabba’s hideous midsection.
Momentarily she forgot the rotten flesh under her bare arms and legs.
Jabba chuckled but loosened her chain, possibly the better to concentrate on his victim’s last agony.
Oola slithered down Jabba’s other side,
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