Star Wars_ Coruscant Nights II Streets of Shadows - Michael Reaves [74]
“Well,” Den said briskly, edging backward toward the exit, “Obviously you have other appointments, so we’ll just be—”
Den froze as the Cathar took a step forward. On his head, between the pointed ears, he wore a diadem of silvery metal fronted by a single mangana aqua cabochon. That meant something in Cathar culture, Jax knew. He just couldn’t remember what.
He took a deep breath. “There’s no need for this, Spa Fon. We’re all friends here.”
The Nuknog glared at him. “Friends do not accuse friends of murder.”
“I’m sure it was an accident. It was his sculptures you wanted, not his life.” Smiling broadly, the Jedi spread his arms wide. “Hey, there’s no shame in admitting to an accident.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” replied Fon. “So you’ll experience no hard feelings over the accident that is about to befall you both now.”
The Cathar approached Jax, ignoring Den. “I am Sele,” he growled. “I will pull out your tibia and use it to pick my teeth.” Snarling, the leader of the Nuknog’s bodyguard exposed sharp, white canines.
“Is this any way to treat customers?” As Jax took a step backward, his right hand slid inconspicuously to his waist. “You can’t make deals in a hostile atmosphere. Why don’t we all take a breath and—”
Letting out a roar that shook the room, Sele reached for Jax with one huge paw. Though the Cathar was faster than one might expect for a creature of such bulk, Jax was considerably more nimble. Dodging to his left, he drew and activated the Velmorian flamesword in a single motion.
The Cathar paused a moment at this unexpected move; he was, however, completely confident in his ability to subdue any hostile interlopers. Given his size and strength, it was an assurance not misplaced.
But he had, in all probability, never faced a Jedi before.
Sele drew a poniard as long and heavy as the Jedi’s leg. Ducking beneath a swing powerful enough to decapitate a reek, Jax leaned forward in a long thrust that sent the tip of the flamesword through the Cathar’s fur and a centimeter deep into his thigh. Howling, the bodyguard stepped back and swatted at the smoke rising from his singed fur. When he looked up again, his expression was by itself enough to paralyze a typical opponent.
Now I remember the significance of the headband, Jax thought. It signifies him as the mightiest warrior of his clan. It figures.
Rushing forward, Sele brought the weighty blade of the poniard down in a swipe that would have cut the Jedi in half from crown to crotch—had it landed, which it did not. Dodging right this time, Jax feinted with the flamesword. His adversary sidestepped left; Jax whirled, leapt with the Force’s aid, and brought the Velmorian weapon down. Flinching, Sele managed to block the blow, but the overflow from the sword seared a black streak across his right shoulder. For the second time the Cathar let out a howl of pain.
Though he had lightly wounded his opponent twice, the Jedi knew that Sele had to land only one of his substantial blows to win the fight. He continued his strategy, using the Force to keep him just out of his foe’s reach while letting the laws of physics work in his favor. At his mass and size, there was simply no way the Cathar could move as quickly or as nimbly as Jax, even without the Force’s aid.
At last, smoldering like a house afire from more than a dozen slashing wounds inflicted by Jax’s flamesword, Sele had no choice but to acquiesce to his opponent. The hulking creature bent one leg and bowed his head. He laid the poniard on the floor between them. “By the rules of the Blood Hunt,” he said in a throaty growl, “I surrender to you all that I own and all that I am.”
“Accepted.” Breathing hard, Jax turned to face the still-seated and