He’s a talker, Paul thought. There’s another weakness. He grows uneasy in the face of silence.
“Have you been shriven?” Feyd-Rautha asked.
Still, Paul circled in silence.
And the old Reverend Mother, watching the fight from the press of the Emperor’s suite, felt herself trembling. The Atreides youth had called the Harkonnen cousin. It could only mean he knew the ancestry they shared, easy to understand because he was the Kwisatz Haderach. But the words forced her to focus on the only thing that mattered to her here.
This could be a major catastrophe for the Bene Gesserit breeding scheme.
She had seen something of what Paul had seen here, that Feyd-Rautha might kill but not be victorious. Another thought, though, almost overwhelmed her. Two end products of this long and costly program faced each other in a fight to the death that might easily claim both of them. If both died here that would leave only Feyd-Rautha’s bastard daughter, still a baby, an unknown, an unmeasured factor, and Alia, the abomination.
“Perhaps you have only pagan rites here,” Feyd-Rautha said. “Would you like the Emperor’s Truthsayer to prepare your spirit for its journey?”
Paul smiled, circling to the right, alert, his black thoughts suppressed by the needs of the moment.
Feyd-Rautha leaped, feinting with right hand, but with the knife shifted in a blur to his left hand.
Paul dodged easily, noting the shield-conditioned hesitation in Feyd-Rautha’s thrust. Still, it was not as great a shield conditioning as some Paul had seen, and he sensed that Feyd-Rautha had fought before against unshielded foes.
“Does an Atreides run or stand and fight?” Feyd-Rautha asked.
Paul resumed his silent circling. Idaho’s words came back to him, the words of training from the long-ago practice floor on Caladan: “Use the first moments in study. You may miss many an opportunity for quick victory this way, but the moments of study are insurance of success. Take your time and be sure. ”
“Perhaps you think this dance prolongs your life a few moments,” Feyd-Rautha said. “Well and good.” He stopped the circling, straightened.
Paul had seen enough for a first approximation. Feyd-Rautha led to the left side, presenting the right hip as though the mailed fighting girdle could protect his entire side. It was the action of a man trained to the shield and with a knife in both hands.
Or … And Paul hesitated…. the girdle was more than it seemed. The Harkonnen appeared too confident against a man who’d this day led the forces of victory against Sardaukar legions.
Feyd-Rautha noted the hesitation, said: “Why prolong the inevitable? You but keep me from exercising my rights over this ball of dirt.”
If it’s a flip-dart, Paul thought, it’s a cunning one. The girdle shows no signs of tampering.
“Why don’t you speak?” Feyd-Rautha demanded.
Paul resumed his probing circle, allowing himself a cold smile at the tone of unease in Feyd-Rautha’s voice, evidence that the pressure of silence was building.
“You smile, eh?” Feyd-Rautha asked. And he leaped in mid-sentence.
Expecting the slight hesitation, Paul almost failed to evade the downflash of blade, felt its tip scratch his left arm. He silenced the sudden pain there, his mind flooded with realization that the earlier hesitation had been a trick—an overfeint. Here was more of an opponent than he had expected. There would be tricks within tricks within tricks.
“Your own Thufir Hawat taught me some of my skills,” Feyd-Rautha said. “He gave me first blood. Too bad the old fool didn’t live to see it.”
And Paul recalled that Idaho had once said, “Expect only what happens in the fight. That way you’ll never be surprised. ”
Again the two circled each other, crouched, cautious.
Paul saw the return of elation to his opponent, wondered at it. Did a scratch signify that much to the man? Unless there were poison on the blade! But how could there be? His own men had handled the weapon, snooped it before passing it. They were too well trained to miss an obvious thing like that.
“That woman you were talking to over there,” Feyd-Rautha said. “The little one. Is she something special to you? A pet perhaps? Will she deserve my special attentions?”
Paul remained silent, probing with his inner senses, examining the blood from the wound, finding a trace of soporific from the Emperor’s blade. He realigned his own metabolism to match this threat and change the molecules of the soporific, but he felt a thrill of doubt. They’d been prepared with soporific on a blade. A soporific. Nothing to alert a poison snooper, but strong enough to