Дюна
Book Three: The Prophet
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Itseemedtohappenofitself,andtheywereembracing,poundingeachotherontheback,feelingthereassuranceofsolidflesh.
“Youyoungpup!Youyoungpup!”Gurneykeptsaying.
AndPaul:“Gurney,man!Gurney,man!”
Presently,theysteppedapart,lookedateachother.Gurneytookadeepbreath.“Soyou’rewhytheFremenhavegrownsowiseinbattletactics.Imight’veknown.TheykeepdoingthingsIcould’veplannedmyself.IfI’donlyknown....”Heshookhishead.“Ifyou’donlygotwordtome,lad.Nothingwould’vestoppedme.I’dhavecomearunningand....”
AlookinPaul’seyesstoppedhim...thehard,weighingstare.
Gurneysighed.“Sure,andthere’dhavebeenthosewhowonderedwhyGurneyHalleckwentarunning,andsomewould’vedonemorethanquestion.
They’dhavegonehuntingforanswers.”
Paulnodded,glancedtothewaitingFremenaroundthem—thelooksofcuriousappraisalonthefacesoftheFedaykin.HeturnedfromthedeathcommandosbacktoGurney.Findinghisformerswordmasterfilledhimwithelation.Hesawitasagoodomen,asignthathewasonthecourseofthefuturewhereallwaswell.
WithGurneyatmyside....
PaulglanceddowntheridgepasttheFedaykin,studiedthesmugglercrewwhohadcomewithHalleck.
“Howdoyourmenstand,Gurney?”heasked.
“They’resmugglersall,”Gurneysaid.“Theystandwheretheprofitis.”
“Littleenoughprofitinourventure,”Paulsaid,andhenotedthesubtlefingersignalflashedtohimbyGurney’srighthand—theoldhandcodeoutoftheirpast.
