the palace but they are rare. I never even sighted one in all these
months.
Jabba . . ."--he shook his head slightly, ruefully--"was growing . . .
impatient. It is well for me that he is no more."
"So even if you had caught the dragon you would not have collected the
bounty?"
"Correct," he said. "But there were . . . other reasons to hunt a
dragon. Even if I had to kill it, I would have profited, I believe."
Yarna's curiosity was piqued. "How?"
"Krayt dragons reportedly have . . . intrinsic value," he replied
evasively.
Yarna had heard some of the bounty hunters and mercenaries talking about
that. Some said that krayt dragons contained treasure, others that
they, like dragons in ancient legend, guarded treasure. But most people
dismissed that notion as being mere sensational rumor, if not outright
folklore.
"What did your contract with Jabba say? Are you free now?" she asked.
"Yes, I am free," he said. "And you?"
"Free," she said, hearing the satisfaction in her own voiceget to Mos
Eisley, my children will be, too."
"Do you"--he paused, as if choosing his words carefully--"have a mate?"
"I did," she said, opening the water flask and carefully smoothing a
scant palmful of the liquid over her face. Then she allowed herself one
long swallow. "But Jabba sent him to the rancor."
He picked up his helmet and, not looking at her, said, "I am sorry,
Mistress Gargan."
"Please," she said, "formality between us is no longer needed. I am
Yarna."
"Very well. Call me Doallyn." He glanced down at the water flask she
was carefully stoppering. "Why do you not drink more? We have plenty."
"I don't need any more," she said honestly. "My people are desert
herders, on a planet every bit as hot as this one."
"What kind of animals do you herd?"
"Tomuons. Large, woolly, with long horns." Her hands moved with a
dancer's flowing gestures, describing the creatures. "They give us
milk, meat, and wool.
This robe"--she held up a fold of her white desert robe--"was spun from
their fleece."
He touched the fold of cloth, and exclaimed over the finespun softness
and beauty of the fabric. "It almost glistens," he said.
"Yes, our fabric is highly prized. It is said that the Emperor's
ceremonial robes are made of Tomuon cloth." She wrung a fold of the
robe hard, then opened her hands and allowed it to fall into her lap,
unmarred. "Our cloth is strong, and rarely wrinkles or stains.
Askajian weaving techniques are prized secrets of our people. Nautag .
. . my mate . . . was one of my world's finest weavers . . ."
"And you," he said, selecting a fresh cartridge of hydron-three and
slipping it into the container on his mask, "were you a dancer before
you came to Jabba's palace?"
"I was," she said. "My father was a chieftain, and I danced for the
honor of our tribe in the largest competition."
She could not keep a note of pride out of her voice, but then,
remembering the year in Jabba's palace, she sighed. "I won that
competition. And then · . . the slavers came. They took us . . .
Nautag, me, our cublings. They . . . they killed one of our babies
during the capture." Her throat felt tight.
"And they brought you to Tatooine?" Doallyn asked, his tone almost
gentle.
She nodded. "Jabba had asked them for an Askajian dancer. So they
captured me . . . and I had to dance for the Hutt. Jabba promised me
that he would not sell my children as long as I danced well for him. But
you know the Bloated One could not be trusted . . . I was always afraid
that he would allow me to work, to gain the money to buy our freedom,
then kill me because it amused him to do so. And then keep my children
in slavery."
He nodded understandingly. "Dancing for Jabba must have been hard,
after everything else that had happened."
"It was," she said. "But Doallyn . . . do you know what was hardest
about it?" Unconsciously she reached out and laid a hand on his
forearm, then realizing what she had done, Yarna hastily withdrew,
tucking her hands inside the folds of her robe.
"What?"
"They . . . laughed at me. All of them. They said that I was..." Her
mouth twisted at the word "ugly." Her indrawn breath felt raw in her
throat.
"They called me gross, and ridiculous, and . . . fat.
Even Jabba laughed at me. But he did not laugh because he thought I was
ugly, he laughed because he knew it hurt me to hear them. He .
. . enjOYed the pain of others. You know."
Doallyn nodded. "Yes, I know."
"It hurt," she said. "I learned not to show it, to lose myself in the
dancing, and not let myself hear the laughing . . . much. But it
hurt." She gave him a glance that flashed defiance. "I am the way I
was born to be! Why do beings have to judge each other? Why do they
have to stare, and sneer, and say cruel things?"
He shook his head, and his fingers came up to tap the scar that she had
nearly forgotten about. "I have no answer for you, Yarna," he said
gravely. "But I understand the questions only too well."
A ray from the westering suns slid across Doallyn's eyes, waking him
from an exhausted slumber. He blinked, then sat up halfway in the
cramped shelter, propping himself on his hands. His companion was still
asleep, breathing deeply. The white material of her robe outlined one
generous haunch, and he experienced a faint stirring of male interest.
How long had it been since he had been With a female .
. . of any species?
Nearly a year, he realized. He was not the sort to indulge in casual
liaisons often . . . and so much of his time was spent alone, in the
wilderness. Doubtless the females atJabba's court would have been
repulsed by his scar. Enough women had drawn back from his face since
he'd acquired that scar that he'd grown very cautious about taking off
his mask in a woman's presence. He'd tried hiring women, from time to
time, but he'd found that unsatisfactory, too. It was easier to abstain
than it was to see revulsion . . . or, almost worse, indifference in a
partner's eyes.
A heartless, temporary coupling left him feeling even worse than
solitude did, Doallyn had discovered.
From time to time he'd wished he had a friend, someone to talk to, but
the habit of silence was a hard one to break, He'd talked more to Yarna
since their escape than he'd spoken to any one person in the past year.
Of course talking with Yarna couldn't be avoided, but their time
together was strictly temporary, the hunter reminded himself. He'd be
glad when he could resume his solitary existence.
Doallyn slid backward, out of the little shelter. As he stood up, he
automatically checked the amount of hydron-three remaining in the
cartridge. Less than a third gone: He wouldn't need another until
midnight or so.
The hunter walked around the side of a dune to answer nature's call,
then spent a few minutes with the navicomputer on the landspeeder,
checking their course. Just as he finished, he heard a sound, then saw
Yarna walking toward him. He found himself thinking about the story
she'd told. From what he knew of Jabba's fickle tastes, it was amazing
that Yarna had lasted a whole year in the Hutt's "employ."
As she strode toward him, the cooling breeze blew her robes around so
they billowed out, then outlined her body. Doallyn was startled...
the Askajian dancer was visibly smaller. He remembered her curt answer
that on a nondesert world she would be "thinner."
Her body tissues evidently soaked up liquid like a sponge, then utilized
the fluid as it was needed, so she could indeed go a long time without
water.
"Will we reach Mos Eisley today?" she asked, coming up beside him.
Doallyn shook his head. "Not this evening, anyway."
He showed her their plotted course on the navicomputer screen.
"Once we get into the Wastes, we'll have to slow down because of the
hills and ravines. If we can halt somewhere north of the Stone Needle
and rest for a few hours, we'll be doing well."
"And from there, how far?"
"Only about another five hundred klicks. If we start at dawn, we'll be
there by noon or so."
A slow smile illuminated her broad features, until they glowed like
Tatooine's dawn. "Then I can see my children tomorrow?"
"With any luck," he said, with an answering smile that she couldn't see.
"Doallyn . . ." Her eyes were very intent. With a jolt of surprise,
he noted that they were a lovely, clear green. "Thank you for coming
with me. For piloting the landspeeder. I don't think I could have
managed without you."
"How were you planning to get across the Dune Sea?" he asked.
He'd been wondering about that since yesterday.
"I had planned to walk," she said matter-of-factly.
"I'm strong, and my wind is excellent. But"--she glanced around her at
the unending dunes and frowned--"this terrain is . . . very harsh. It
would have been hard to bring enough provisions . . . it would have
taken me a long, long time. I might not have made it."
The Sand People would have killed you, Doallyn thought, if the suns
didn't . . . But he was impressed by her courage, nevertheless.
After reloading the landspeeder, Doallyn and Yarna climbed in and glided
off across the sands. The suns were far down on the western horizon,
and it soon grew chilly. Doallyn kept the speeder at a good clip, but
he was uncomfortably aware that the steering problem was growing
steadily worse. What if the speeder broke down altogether?
They'd be stranded in the Dune Sea . . . no, a glance at the
navicomputer reassured the pilot slightly. The Dune Sea now lay behind
them; they were skimming over the rugged folds and chasms of the
Jundland Wastes.
Doallyn was forced to slow the speeder's headlong rush, and to give all
his attention to piloting. The steering problem grew steadily worse,
and soon the muscles and tendons in his left arm and shoulder were
protesting. It was with relief that the hunter saw that they were
approaching the coordinates he'd selected.
He began searching for a good place to stop for the few hours that
remained of the night . . .
Yarna awoke at dawn, to find herself huddled against Doallyn's back,
where she must've instinctively migrated in search of warmth.
She hastily rolled away and sat up, rubbing her eyes and looking around
her at the bleak desolation that was the Jundland Wastes.
Rock . . . rock everywhere. Tortured, wind-sculpted rock, in various
hues of brown. Ocher-brown, yellow-brown, tan, reddish-brown, dark
brown . . . with miserable scraps of yellowish-green vegetation
scattered here and there.
And sand, White sand, so pure and pristine that it dazzled the eye with
its whiteness. It appeared innocent and safe, but she knew that the
Jundland Wastes were rife with treacherous sand pits that could swallow
the unwary. Yarna had been careful to acquire a long stick and to probe
the ground before her wherever she ventured.
Turning to look south, Yarna glimpsed the narrow spire of what must be
the Stone Needle, the tallest landmark in the Jundland Wastes.
In the pellucid air of dawn she could see it clearly, even at this
distance.
Taking out the provisions, she divided a packet meticulously in two,
then allowed herself a few scant swallows of water. She ran her hands
down her front, realizing that she was now nearly a third less bulky
than she had been in Jabba's court. He'd liked her at maximum fluid
capacity, claiming it made her jiggle more effectively, but it had been
hard to maintain the greater bulk. She was glad that she could shed
some of it now.
When Doallyn awoke, the two escapees quickly loaded the landspeeder,
then headed east, toward Mos Eisley. Yarna leaned back in her seat,
pleased that she could now move and stretch with far greater freedom.
She was increasingly aware that Doallyn was having to struggle with the
steering from time to time. "Is this speeder going to make it?" she
asked worriedly.
He nodded. "But I'm getting cramps in my arms trying to hold it on
course."
"I wish I knew how to pilot."
Buoyed by the knowledge that they were rapidly approaching their goal,
the two talked as they sped along. Doallyn described his searches for
the krayt dragons that lived in the Jundland Wastes, and told Yarna that
there was a surprising amount of life in the wilderness. Whole tribes
of Sand People eked out an existence, even though-there was almost no
ground water, and they had only a few, stolen moisture vaporators and
dew collectors.
"How do they survive?" she wondered.
"Hubba gourds," he said, and told her about the round, yellowish fruits
that grew in the shadows of the cliffs. The fruits held fluid in their
tough, stringy inner fibers, liquid that could be sucked and squeezed
out to keep life going.
He also described how vicious the Sand People were, how they would kill
for no reason more than to steal one's clothing. "The terrain is
dangerous enough," Doallyn said, "with wild banthas and poisonous
lizards and sand pits to worry about . . . but the Sand People are even
worse."
Yarna shivered despite the heat, and peered at the navicomputer.
"How much farther?"
"We passed Motesta nearly an hour ago." Doallyn pointed at an orange
dot on the screen. "We're about fifty klicks from the outskirts of Mos
Eisley. We'll be there by--" He broke off in a strangled sound, half
gasp, half scream, and the landspeeder swerved wildly.
Yarna had been watching Doallyn--she never saw it coming. All she knew
was that one moment the speeder was gliding along, the next, it was
struck so hard that it went spinning through the air like a child's
whirl-toy. Yarna screamed as centrifugal force clamped her into the
seat like a giant hand. Then the nose of the speeder struck the rocks
in front of them, and Doallyn went tumbling out.
Yarna screamed again as she caught a
glimpse of a massive figure that
loomed like a living, scaled mountain.
She realized that the sound she'd been dimly aware of was a loud
hissing, as though all the kettles in the world were spouting at once.
The speeder's tail went down in answer to another crushing blow, and
then Yarna too was flung out. She landed half on a rock, half on sand,
and felt the sand give way beneath her, sucking her leg down.
Sand pit! she thought, and desperately grabbed the rock, heaving
herself free of the shifting pull. As she did so, she saw a dark shape
that was already halfway buried and sinking fast: Oh, no! The
landspeeder!
Yarna watched helplessly as their only transport was sucked down until
it disappeared completely. Her attention was distracted by a roar that
made the ground shake, and she glanced around. What hit us?
She was dizzy, disoriented, as she wondered where Doallyn was.
Stumbling, careful not to step on anything but the stone, she edged her
way around the rocky buttress that had saved her, until she could see.
The sight that met her eyes was so overwhelming that her knees buckled,
and she had to grab the rock wall for support. The thing that filled
Tales From Jabba's Palace Page 44
