Barve Hunt

Onar knew this was a risk, a dangerous game he was playing. He'd spotted the Rodian looking for his contact, set to make a deal for some illegal bootlegs of a musical recording. Onar had heard on the street from the Wookiee, Gurumsh that this Rodian was here trying to cut into some illegal activities. Looking to make some money fast. It was what Gurumsh said next that had planted the seed of this plan in Onar's mind.
He'd said, "Raawwooar, <snarl>, groaaowwarl." Which roughly translated meant that the Rodian was an idiot and probably didn't even know who the contact was.
That had gotten Onar thinking. Yeah, he could pull this off. Catch the guy early, get him into a booth, fast talk him into believing he was the contact and then figure out half way in how to get some creds out of the guy.
It had worked too, for a while, but then the Rodian had started to get suspicious. Onar didn't know which band had made the bootleg, or what the name of the song was. He'd guessed correctly that the Hutt's were involved, and that had almost gotten him back on track, but he'd guessed wrong about the number of recordings being moved. He'd been way off. And so he'd gone into his rant, telling the little Rodian to stuff it, and that he'd rather swim through rancor offal than deal with a little runt like him who didn't know what he was doing.
That was working too now, and he just needed to figure whether he wanted to escape, or maybe play the calm down card, get the guy back into business, maybe still grab some money.
Then the Rodian pulled out his trump card, and Onar knew he was toast.
The Rodian said, "We'll just see what my boss thinks. You know who my boss is don't you? Slinereel?"

Slinereel on the other hand, was not a corporate type. He was a Zabrak. A mean Zabrak. Onar had a partner once that told him Slinereel was the kind of guy that would shoot himself in the foot if it would make him some money. He'd limp to the bank counting his credits. And if he was willing to do that, you know he was willing to shoot other people in much more prominent places on their bodies.
Onar had settled down in the bar then, when the Rodian told him about Slinereel. The Rodian said he could cut Onar a deal. All smiles and teeth now that he felt he had Onar over a barrel.
He said, "I won't even report this little attempt of yours to con us out of our money. It took guts doing what you did, walking in here off the street and trying to hustle me."
Onar said he didn't know what the Rodian was talking about, but he didn't really mean it. The Rodian knew too.
"We'll have a duel. In the gladiator pit. This planet has one in every city. For settling differences."
Onar looked across the table at the little Rodian, short even for his species, and small. He said sure, that would be fine.
The Rodian said, "I'll meet you in the morning at the pit."
Onar sat back and watched as the little green businessman took a last swig of his Jawa beer and sat it back on the table.
"And I'll bring my champion with me."
Onar felt his stomach drop.

When he'd asked what they called the arena where the gladiators fought, the big Trandoshan said, "The arena."
The big Trandoshan was leading Onar through the hallways of the pit, showing him where he'd get dressed and where the armor and weapons were kept. When they stepped into the small room with the stone table and no chairs the Trandoshan said, "This is where you'll wait."
Onar focused on the one object in the room besides the stone table. It was a stick, like a mace, except that instead of having a big metal ball with spikes on the end, it just had four blades, like knife blades, pointing in 4 directions. Like a compass, he thought.
"That's not mine is it?"
The Trandoshan didn't answer, so Onar continued. "I can't fight with that thing. I'll cut my fingers off."
The Trandoshan was busy writing something on a piece of flimsiplast, being careful with his writing like he was afraid he'd misspell something.
"Plus it's too big. It's not the right size for me."
The Trandoshan looked up from the flimsiplast and nodded. He said, "It's not for you."
Onar breathed a sigh of relief, saying, "That's good."
"You're the accused." The Trandoshan said. "You don't get a weapon."