Star Wars_ The New Jedi Order 21_ The Unifying Force - James Luceno [29]
Shimrra paid no attention to the bitter grumblings from some of the warriors, all of whom wore ceremonial vonduun crab armor. Instead his piercing gaze fell on Warmaster Nas Choka, noble in appearance despite his modest stature, with fine black hair combed straight back from his face, and a wispy beard. Choka had been escalated in the wake of Tsavong Lah’s death, but was not yet universally revered, despite his numerous victories in Hutt space.
“Learn from the mistakes of your precursors, Warmaster, and all will go well for you. Fail me as Domain Lah did and I will personally make an example of you that future warmasters will be forced to consider before they accept escalation.”
Nas Choka inclined his head in a crisp bow and struck the points of his shoulders with the opposite fists.
Now Shimrra glared at the fretting warriors. “Many of you would like to hold Prefect Nom Anor responsible for what happened at Ebaq Nine, because of the disinformation to which he fell victim. I myself accepted that for a time. But the real failure was Tsavong Lah’s, for allowing himself to be gulled by the enemy. Tsavong Lah thought he died an honorable death, but I say that he shamed us all.”
Eyes downcast, many a warrior squirmed in place.
Shimrra’s gaze found High Priest Jakan—adorned in red—and High Prefect Drathul, sheathed in green. “There are others whom I might chastise and remind of their obligation. But I will reserve that for another occasion.”
A dovin basal cushion floated Shimrra out of his throne to the ring of flower petals that encircled it, where he dismounted the cushion. Ankle-deep in the flowers, he raised his long-toothed scepter of rank. “All can be made right by the coming sacrifice. But we must take care against interference.”
“The heretics, August Lord,” a priest said.
Shimrra waved his empty hand in dismissal. “The heretics are nothing more than a pestilence—a plague of stink bugs we can eradicate at any time. I speak of interference from the unconverted who move silently among us—those who survived the planetary bombardment and worldshaping, the slaves who escaped the maimed seedship that delivered the World Brain to Yuuzhan’tar, the resistance fighters who profane our holy ground, and the Jeedai.”
As if on cue, Onimi scrambled to his feet and followed Shimrra along the flowered ring, reciting:
“The Shamed are naught but nuisance flies,
At least as seen through Shimrra’s eyes;
The Jeedai are the ones he mourns,
Edged and sharp as senalak thorns.”
When Shimrra swung about, Onimi bowed in mock gallantry. “Great Sky Lord, if the Jeedai Force is nothing more than enhanced ability, why have our shapers not created worthy opponents from the warrior caste?”
Shimrra frowned and aimed a finger at his familiar. “You spoil my surprise, Onimi. But so be it.” He turned to face the white-robed, tentacle-handed shapers. “Let us not keep our company in suspense. Display your handiwork.”
One of the spotlessly adorned shapers rose and hastened from the hall. Moments later, entering through both the priest and warrior portals, marched a group of ten males. Shorter even than Nas Choka, they carried restless amphistaffs and whetted coufees. Steng’s Talons sprouted from their robust bodies, which were smeared black with dried blood.
The ten were unlike the special breed of warriors known as hunters, who were privileged to sport the photosensitive mimetic cloak of Nuun, but something new and disconcerting, and the female seers were the first to voice their dismay.
“What desecration is this?”
“Armed as warriors, yet clothed as attendants to the gods!”
“What shaper is responsible?”
Onimi gamboled over to them and adopted a haughty posture.
“To prove the Force a farce indeed,
Shimrra’s will the shapers heed;
Birthing troops of mingled caste
Great Nas Choka they will outlast!”
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