"All right, Bolmar. Turn around. Nice and slow, and keep your hands where I can see them."

Varn set down his glass of Corellian ale on the bar, then did as he was told. He regarded the source of the command, a young man about his own age, dressed modestly but with a head of spiked blond hair. The man wore an arrogant grin on his face. In his right hand was a blaster.

"As I'm sure you know, there's a rather large bounty on your head. And it appears that I'll be collecting it. Now get out your weapon - slowly - and toss it over here. And don't try anything funny. There are three other guns pointed at your head."

The bounty hunter was lying, Varn recognized. He did have help, but only in the form of one ally, not three. Varn had noticed his eyes shifting momentarily to his left as he spoke, and he reached out his senses in that direction to find one focused mind that could only belong to the holder of the one other gun that was currently pointed at Varn's head.

Varn had been a mere Padawan when the Jedi Order was disbanded, but several years on the run from Imperials and bounty hunters had heightened his senses tremendously.

"Hand over the weapon," the man repeated, gritting his teeth. He was standing about three meters away, wise enough to keep his distance, but Varn could sense a nervousness behind the cocky façade. These guys are amateurs.