There was a vibroblade strapped to the inside of a sleeve, another on the calf.
On the inside of the other wrist the Twi’lek wore a “wrist vac,” a device that when triggered would send small, deadly blades flying into an opponent’s vitals.
Shoved into his belt, covered by his tunic, was a sleep-inducer. A short-range weapon, but very effective. The Twi’lek could have simply walked up behind Han, stuck the sleep-inducer in his back, then pulled the trigger to send the Corellian off to dreamland.
Han stared at the weapon, his mouth dry. A bounty hunter. Great. Why am I not surprised? This must be Teroenza’s doing. He’s found out I’m alive, and he wants me
If not for instinct and fast reflexes, Han knew, at this very moment he’d be out cold and on his way back to Ylesia to face a terrible vengeance . .
.
He heard Chewbacca make an anxious sound, glanced up, only to find that the encounter had drawn a crowd.
Abandoning the Twi’lek where he lay, Han stood up, blaster still ostentatiously held in his right hand. The crowd backed away, muttering.
The Corellian moved sideways with a dancer’s grace, never turning his back on the crowd, until he and Chewbacca were side by side. He knew someone must’ve summoned planetary security, but he also knew that since the Twi’lek was a bounty hunter, he was more or less outside planetary law. A bounty hunter was presumed able to take care of himself. If the intended prey fought back … well, tough luck.
Moving slowly, step by step, Han and the Wookiee backed away from the crowd until they reached the closest alley. Then, moving like a single entity with one mind, they leaped sideways, and ran.
No one followed them.
Teroenza, High Priest and unofficial master of the steamy world of Ylesia, a world that produced drugs and slaves in impressive amounts, lounged in his sling-seat in his sumptuous apartments while his Zisian majordomo, Ganar Tos, massaged his massive shoulders.
The t’landa Til were enormous creatures, standing nearly as tall as a human male on their four tree-trunklike legs. With their barrel-shaped bodies, tiny arms, and huge heads that somewhat resembled those of their distant cousins, the Hutts—except for the enormous horn protruding from the middle of their faces—the t’landa Til considered themselves the handsomest sentients in the galaxy. The vast majority of other sentients would not have agreed with their assessment.
Teroenza raised one of his small, almost dainty forearms, and used his fingers to smooth a soothing oil into his leathery skin. He rubbed gently around his bulbous eyes. The sun on Ylesia was frequently sheathed in clouds, but it had enough strength to cause his skin to dry out unless he took care of it. Frequent mud baths helped, as did this expensive emollient. He began rubbing the oil into his horn, remembering the last time he’d been home, on Nal Hutta. He’d attracted a mate, Tilenna, and they’d spent hours together, rubbing each other with oils …
The High Priest sighed. Doing his duty to his homeworld and the clan of Hutts his family served called for sacrifices. One of them was that only male priests were needed on Ylesia, to provide the Exultation, so no female t’landa Til were here. No mates, no potential mates …
“Harder, Ganar Tos,” Teroenza murmured, in his own language. “I have been working too hard these days. Too much work, too much stress. I must learn to slow down, relax more …”
Teroenza glanced longingly at the huge door in his apartments that led next door, to his treasure collection. The High Priest was an avid collector of the rare, the unusual, the beautiful. He bought and “acquired” rarities and art objects from all over the galaxy. His collection was his one pleasure on this steamy, backwater world that was populated mostly by slaves and inferiors.
It had taken him nearly four years to restore the collection after that vile, despicable excuse for a sentient, Vykk Draygo, had ransacked the place and stolen many of the rarest and most valuable pieces. Several days ago Teroenza had discovered that “Vykk Draygo” was still alive. A check of the Devaronian Port Authority records had shown that the Corellian scoundrel’s real name was “Han Solo.”
Remembering the terrible night when his collection had been violated, Teroenza’s small hands clenched involuntarily into fists, and his head lowered with the longing to impale a victim on his horn. Ganar Tos’s fingers dug into suddenly taut clumps of muscle, causing the t’landa Til to wince and curse in his own language. Solo had fired blasters in the treasure room, causing irreparable damage to some of Teroenza’s finest pieces. The white jade fountain had been repaired by the best sculptor in the galaxy, but it would never be the same …