Star Wars_ Tales From Jabba's Palace - Kevin J. Anderson [147]
Thinking of Leia and the other dancing girls made her mind flash to Oola. If only the poor little Twi’lek girl had taken her advice, then she too would have lived to see this day—and she too would have been free! Yarna hadn’t known Oola well, but she’d liked the girl … even if she had been foolish enough to ignore Yarna’s counsel on how to stay alive.
It had only been a few days since Oola had been fed to the monster residing beneath the throne room … now it was dead, as well, slain by the young warrior who called himself a Jedi. Yarna, watching from above, had barely been able to conceal her vengeful glee. The Askajian dancer had hated the ugly beast with a fierce passion ever since it had devoured her mate, Nautag. Their whole family had been captured in a slaver raid, and they’d been brought to Tatooine as part of a shipment for Jabba’s inspection. The slavers had marched their merchandise into this very throne room, and invited the Hutt to take his pick of their wares.
Then, in a moment that still haunted Yarna’s dreams, Nautag had stepped forward and cursed the Bloated One, defying Jabba and declaring that he and his mate and their cublings would never be slaves … never! And then … Jabba had laughed, that deadly “ho, ho, ho” that always chilled Yarna’s hearts. Jabba laughed … and sprang the trapdoor, and Nautag fell.
Her mate had fought bravely, but he’d only lasted a few minutes. The rancor’s triumphant roar as he’d torn her mate in half echoed in the Askajian dancer’s ears …
Yarna started, abruptly recalled to the here and now by a shrill, unmistakably feminine scream. The chaos had begun.
I have to get out of here, she thought, remembering the small cache of pilfered valuables she’d been collecting ever since she’d been brought here. She’d need them when she reached Mos Eisley, and her cublings. Prefect Talmont’s auctioneers would be eager to sell, but they’d expect at least a hundred apiece …
Mentally, she tallied up the value of her little hoard. Do I have enough? Probably. Just barely.
She couldn’t stay here, not now. She wouldn’t last a full day, she knew it. Not long ago, she had seen the face of the Death that was haunting Jabba’s palace, and she knew that he would never let her live to tell what she had seen. Only luck had saved her yesterday. If Ortugg hadn’t come looking for her …
And then they’d found the kitchen boy. Yarna was the only one who understood the significance of the small drops of blood crusted in the victim’s nostrils. She knew how the lad had met his death … and she had no desire to share his fate. Since that moment, she’d been careful never to be alone, even taking one of the servants when she visited the bathhouse and lavatory.
“Mistress …” someone said, hesitantly, and Yarna turned to see Doallyn still standing beside her. His features were hidden, but there was no mistaking his tense, urgent bearing.
“Yes?” The Askajian strove to keep the impatience she felt from reaching her voice. Nobody must know that she intended to escape, or she’d be stopped.
“I was wondering if you could help me. You’re in charge of the cleaning … you know where Jabba keeps … kept things. Have you ever seen a supply of these?” With quick fingers, the guard detached a small, cylindrical cartridge from the side of his breathing helmet and held it out for her inspection.
Yarna had seen a box of small gas cartridges like that, concealed behind a panel in Jabba’s personal quarters. She looked curiously at Doallyn. “What is it?”
“A trace-breather cartridge. I can breathe Tatooine’s air for short periods of time, but if I don’t have minuscule amounts of hydron-three added to my air intake, I will die.” The guard glanced over his shoulder apprehensively. “Jabba only doled out one day’s supply at a time … his way of ensuring my loyalty. But now, with him dead …”
Yarna studied him speculatively, arms folded across