Дюна
Book Two: Muad‘dib
Icanhandlethisslave.Andit’smylongknifethatcarriesthepoisonthistime,nottheshortone.EvenHawatdoesn’tknowthat.
“Hai,Harkonnen!”theslavecalled.“Areyoupreparedtodie?”
Deathlystillnessgrippedthearena.Slavesdidnotissuethechallenge!
Now,Feyd-Rauthahadaclearviewofthegladiator’seyes,sawthecoldferocityofdespairinthem.Hemarkedthewaythemanstood,looseandready,musclespreparedforvictory.TheslavegrapevinehadcarriedHawat’smessagetothisone:“You’llgetatruechancetokillthena-Baron.”Thatmuchoftheschemewasasthey’dplannedit,then.
AtightsmilecrossedFeyd-Rautha’smouth.Heliftedthebarbs,seeingsuccessforhisplansinthewaythegladiatorstood.
“Hai!Hai!”theslavechallenged,andcreptforwardtwosteps.
Nooneinthegalleriescanmistakeitnow,Feyd-Rauthathought.
Thisslaveshouldhavebeenpartlycrippledbydrug-inducedterror.Everymovementshouldhavebetrayedhisinnerknowledgethattherewasnohopeforhim—hecouldnotwin.Heshouldhavebeenfilledwiththestoriesofthepoisonsthena-Baronchoseforthebladeinhiswhite-glovedhand.Thena-Baronnevergavequickdeath;hedelightedindemonstratingrarepoisons,couldstandinthearenapointingoutinterestingsideeffectsonawrithingvictim.
Therewasfearintheslave,yes—butnotterror.
Feyd-Rauthaliftedthebarbshigh,noddedinanalmost-greeting.
Thegladiatorpounced.
HisfeintanddefensivecounterwereasgoodasanyFeyd-Rauthahadeverseen.
