Star Wars_ The New Jedi Order 04_ Agents of Chaos 01_ Hero's Trial - James Luceno [85]
“Impress you?” Han echoed irascibly. “Impress you? Why you—”
“You called ‘bank,’ ” the strapping pit boss reminded in a threatening tone. “Are you playing or not?”
Everyone at the table looked at Han, and a crowd of passengers began to gather round. To decline would not only be gutless but an insult to the players he had nearly cleaned out. He shoved the credits toward the center of the table.
“Bank,” he grated.
As the Bith prized cards from the shoe, the passengers pressed closer to watch. Outside of tournaments, it was rare to see so many credits wagered on a single hand.
Han carefully lifted his two cards and forced them apart: twenty-one.
Almost immediately the randomizer struck, reducing the value to thirteen.
He threw the Commander of flasks, worth twelve, into the interference field—just short of another strike, which converted the one of coins into the Idiot, with a value of zero.
He asked for a card and drew the Evil One, valued at negative fifteen, leaving him with a total value of negative three. Whispered disappointment spread through the crowd.
Tension mounted as Han studied the shoe, glanced at the randomizer, then studied the shoe some more. When he announced that he would stand, the audience gasped in unison. A twelve in the interference field and a negative fifteen on the table; he was either an inspired player or a born loser.
The Bith turned over the house’s two cards, the one of staves and the Commander of coins, for a total of thirteen. House rules required the dealer to draw a third card on a twelve or thirteen.
The Bith’s hand went to the shoe and the crowd held its breath. A ranked card would put the house on the wrong side of twenty-three, and a face card could very well drop the house into the negative. Han appeared to have a fighting chance. A rivulet of sweat coursed down the side of his face and dripped from his jaw.
But when the bearer’s paddle lifted the card, Han caught a glimpse of its reflection in the interference field.
The nine of sabers.
A twenty-two for the dealer.
Han’s heart sunk.
In the same instant the randomizer struck for an unprecedented third time. Han’s Evil One became the Mistress of staves, increasing his total to twenty-five! But then the Idiot transformed, as well—to the Queen of Air and Darkness, valued at negative two, for a total of twenty-three.
Pure sabacc.
Sitting tall in the chair once more, Han showed his hand. Wild applause erupted behind him. He had won again.
The banker shoved Han’s winnings forward and closed the table. As the disheartened players left and the crowd dispersed—save for a Twi’lek woman trying desperately to attract Han’s attention—Han counted out his initial buy-in stakes and pushed the hefty remainder to Droma.
“Here,” he snarled, “buy yourself a new outfit—something that doesn’t shout.”
Droma grinned and swept the credits into his two-toned beret. “I know some folks on the lower decks who can use this.”
Han showed him a gimlet stare. “You knew I’d win.”
“I may have had a hunch,” Droma allowed.
“So you’re a player.”
Droma shook his head. “But I am familiar with the cards. The Ryn invented them. The ranked and face cards, that is.”
Han made a face. “This I gotta hear.”
“Each card embodied certain spiritual principles,” Droma went on. “In sum they were a training device for spiritual growth, you might say—but never meant to be used in a game of chance.”
He reached across the table for one of the discarded decks. Fanning the deck in one hand, Droma rid it of the suit cards numbered one through eleven. The rest he spread in a semicircle on the tabletop.
“The ranked cards—Commander, Mistress, Master, and Ace—represented individuals of specific inclination, with the staves corresponding to spiritual enterprise, the flasks to emotional states, the sabers to mental pursuits, and the coins to material well-being. But regard the eight pairs of face cards and ask yourself why a game would include such