Дюна
Book Three: The Prophet
“Now,rememberwhatItoldyou.Doitsimplyanddirectly—nothingfancy.
Amongourpeople,weridethemakerattheageoftwelve.Youaremorethansixyearsbeyondthatageandnotborntothislife.Youdon’thavetoimpressanyonewithyourcourage.Weknowyouarebrave.Allyoumustdoiscallthemakerandridehim.”
“Iwillremember,”Paulsaid.
“Seethatyoudo.I’llnothaveyoushamemyteaching.”
Stilgarpulledaplasticrodaboutameterlongfrombeneathhisrobe.Thethingwaspointedatoneend,hadaspring-woundclapperattheotherend.“Ipreparedthisthumpermyself.It’sagoodone.Takeit.”
Paulfeltthewarmsmoothnessoftheplasticasheacceptedthethumper.
“Shishaklihasyourhooks,”Stilgarsaid.“He’llhandthemtoyouasyoustepoutontothatduneoverthere.”Hepointedtohisright.“Callabigmaker,Usul.
Showustheway.”
PaulmarkedthetoneofStilgar’svoice—halfritualandhalfthatofaworriedfriend.
Inthatinstant,thesunseemedtoboundabovethehorizon.Theskytookonthesilveredgray-bluethatwarnedthiswouldbeadayofextremeheatanddrynessevenforArrakis.
“Itisthetimeofthescaldingday,”Stilgarsaid,andnowhisvoicewasentirelyritual.“Go,Usul,andridethemaker,travelthesandasaleaderofmen.”
Paulsalutedhisbanner,notinghowthegreenandblackflaghunglimplynowthatthedawnwindhaddied.HeturnedtowardtheduneStilgarhadindicated—adirtytanslopewithanS-trackcrest.
