Chapter 35 Chapter Thirteen

On his 17th birthday, Fidelo Harkonen killed the hundredth slave gladiator in the family arena.Visiting observers from the Imperial Court - the Earl and Lady of Fenlon - were attending a birthday party in Gidi Plemen, home of the Harkonnen. That afternoon, they were invited to sit in a golden box in the triangular arena with members of the Harkonnen immediate family. In honor of the future Baron's birthday, all Harkonnens are reminded that Phaede Rose is the designated heir.It's Giddy Plemen's festival.The old baron had declared a day of rest from noon one day to noon the next.In the family city, Harkonen put a lot of effort into creating a convivial atmosphere, with flags flying from the buildings and walls along Court Road freshly painted.

But, leaving the main street, the Earl and Lady Fenlon noticed the rubbish dumps, the cesspools in the street, the uneven walls, and thieves hurrying by. The baron's blue-walled castle was beautifully decorated, and the count and his lady saw expensively hired guards everywhere.Those weapons that shone with a peculiar splendor told the trained man that they were in regular use.Commonly used passages from one area to another are guarded, even in castles.The way the servants walked and the way their eyes looked showed that they had received special military training. "The pressure continues to mount," the count said to his lady in their secret language. "The Baron is just beginning to understand what it will actually cost him to get rid of the Duke of Ledo."

"Sometimes I must tell you the legend of the phoenix," she said. They were in the reception hall of the castle, waiting to go to the family gladiatorial meeting.It was a modest hall—perhaps forty meters long and twenty or so wide—but the columns on each side were steeply conical.The ceiling has a delicate semicircular vault.All this gives the illusion of a huge space. "Ah . . . the baron is here," said the count. The Baron came along the long side of the hall, with that characteristic waddling gait of controlling the weight of the supports.His neck bobbed up and down; the suspenders flicked and moved inside his orange robes.The rings on his fingers gleamed, and the creamy hagar gems embroidered in his robes shone.

Walking beside the Baron was Phaede Rose, a diadem in his dark hair, an incongruous beauty over dark eyes.He wore a tight knee-length robe and neat trousers with little bells tied at the hem, and soft slippers that hid his little feet. Mrs. Fenlon noticed the young man's walking posture and the firm muscles under the knee-length robe, and thought: This is a man who will not let himself gain weight. The Baron stood before them, and seized Phaede Rose by the arm. "My nephew, Na Feld Rose Harkonnen," and turning his fat baby face towards Phed Rose, "this is the Lord and Lady of Fenlon of which I have spoken."

Phaede Rose bowed his head with the required courtesy.He stared at Lady Fenlon: soft blond hair, perfect figure.She was wearing a long ecru floor-length dress, without ornaments, plain and fitted.Those gray-green eyes looked at him too.She had Bee Geist's calm self-possession, which made young people unspeakably disturbed. "Well..." said the Count.He looked at Phaede Ross. "Well... nice young man. Ah, my... well... darling," said the Count with a glance at the Baron, "my dear Baron, you say you have told this nice young man about us? What did you say?" "I told my nephew that our Emperor holds great regard for you, Lord Fenlon," said the baron.But he was thinking: remember him well, my nephew!The Rabbit Killer—

This is the most dangerous category of people. "Of course," said the count, smiling at his lady. Phaede Rose found the man's behavior and words somewhat insulting.They stop simply because there is something obvious that needs attention.The young man's attention was fixed on the count: a small man with a rather unattractive face. His face was deceptive, with oversized black eyes and gray temples.His movements—he moves his hands or turns his head one way and speaks another—are elusive. "Um... ah... um... you come across such a... um... so rare right," said the earl, looking over the Baron's shoulder, "I... ah... to your heir... um... The perfection of ... ah ... congratulations to you. Considering um ... young, one might say."

"How kind of you!" the baron bowed.But Phaede Rose noticed that there was no politeness in his uncle's eyes. "When you um... um... irony, that... ah... shows that you are... um... thinking deeply," said the count. He's talking like that again, Phillip Ross thought, as if he's being rude, but you can't tell there's anything unsatisfactory about it. Phyd Rose thought the man was talking nonsense like "...um..." and Phyd Rose's attention fell back to Mrs. Fenlon. "We... ah... take too much of this young man's time," she said. "I know he should be in the arena today."

Compared with those coquettish beauties among the royal family members, she is indeed a lovely girl!Phyd Ross thought.He said, "I will kill a man for you today, madam. I will die in the arena, if you will." She glanced at him calmly, but said sarcastically, "You don't need my permission." "Fed!" said the baron.The brat!Does he want to challenge this murderous earl? But the Count just smiled and said, "Ah..." "You should really get ready and go to the arena, Faed," said the baron. "You should rest and take no foolish risks."

Phaede Rose bowed, his face blackened with rage. "I believe everything will be as you wish, Uncle." He nodded to Earl Fenlon, "Your Excellency." He nodded to the Countess, "Ma'am." He turned around and strode out of the hall, just He glanced at the people of the various small families beside the double doors. "He's too young!" sighed the Baron. "Well... indeed, well..." said the Count. Mrs. Fenlon thought: Could that be the young man the Virgin spoke of?Is that the blood relationship we must preserve? "We have more than an hour before we go to the arena," said the baron. "Perhaps now, we can talk briefly, Lord Fenlon." He tilted his fat head to the right: "There are quite a few Project to be discussed."

The baron thought: Let us see how the emperor's messenger can make the message he brings clear, and not be so careless that it cannot be delivered correctly. The count said to his lady: "Well... ah... um, you um... um... can you forgive us, dear?" "It changes every day, sometimes every hour," she said, "well..." She gave the Baron a sweet smile and walked away.Her gown swished as she straightened her chest and strode stately towards the double doors at the far end of the hall. The baron noticed that as she approached, the conversation among the various small families ceased, and their eyes followed her.Bee Geist!Get rid of them all, thought the Baron, and the world would be a better place!

"Between the two pillars on our left, there is a soundproof cone," said the Baron, "where we can talk without fear of being overheard." He led the way, waddling into the soundproof place, The various noises in the castle suddenly became blurred and distant. The count went up to the baron, and they turned to face the wall, so that they could not see each other's lips. "We are dissatisfied with the way you ordered the Sadokars to leave Arrakis," said the count. Straightforward, thought the Baron. "The Sadokars cannot stay there any longer, or there is the danger of being discovered how the Emperor has helped me," said the baron. "However, your nephew Rabin doesn't seem to be very eager to solve the Fremen problem." "What does the Emperor wish to do?" the baron asked. "There may be only a small number of Fremen left in Arrakis. The southern desert is unlikely to be inhabited, while the northern desert is regularly searched by our patrols." "Who said the Southern Desert couldn't be inhabited?" "Your own planetary ecologist, dear count." "But Dr. Keynes is dead." "Ah, yes. Unfortunately." "We got word from a flight over the southern desert," said the Earl, "that there is evidence of vegetation growing there." "So the Gilders agree to watch from the air?" "You know better, Baron. The Emperor cannot legally arrange for Arrakis to be watched." "Neither can I," said the Baron. "Who made this aerial flight?" "A... smuggler." "You've been lied to, Count," said the baron. "Smugglers can't have flown the southern deserts and done better than Rabin's men. Storms, sandstorms, lightning, everything, you know Yes. Flying people will be destroyed sooner than they are stationed there." "We will discuss various forms of lightning at other times," said the count. "So, did you find an error in my report?" asked the baron. "It's impossible to act in self-defense when you imagine mistakes," Earl said. He's doing everything he can to make me angry, thought the baron.He took two deep breaths to calm himself down.He could smell his own sweat, and the suspender weight-reducers used under his robes made him feel suddenly itchy and irritated. "The Emperor will not be displeased with the death of the Duke's concubine and the boy," said the baron. "They flew into Desert Storm." "Yes, there have been so many cheap accidents," agreed the count. "I don't like the tone of your voice, count," said the baron. "Anger is one thing, violence is another," said the count, "and I warn you: if an unfortunate accident were to happen to me here, all the Great Houses would learn what you did in Arrakis. Everything you do. They've long suspected what you've done." "The only recent event I can recall," said the baron, "was the transport of several legions of Sadokars to Arrakis." "Do you think that matter will make the emperor take it to heart?" "I don't want to think about that." The Count smiled. "Sardokar Commanders, if found, will admit to acting without the Emperor's orders, because they want to fight your Fremen scum." "Many may doubt such a confession," said the baron.However, such threats made him uneasy.Are the Sadokas really that disciplined?he asked himself. "The emperor does not wish to examine your books," said the count. "All the time." "You... ah, ha... you don't object, do you? The board of directors of the Cosmos Joint Development Company has some doubts about your account book recently." "No objection," he thought, and let him bring out the fake account, sue me, and let it come out.I'll stand there, feign pain like Prometheus, and say, "Trust me, I'm wronged." Will believe a second allegation by a prosecutor who has been proven wrong. "There is no doubt that there is something suspicious about your books," murmured the Count. "Why is the Emperor so interested in exterminating the Fremen?" the baron asked. "You want to change the subject, huh?" The Count shrugged. "It's the Sardaka who want that, not the Emperor. They need to practice killing...they don't like a job left unfinished." He thought he was frightening me by reminding me that he was backed by a bloodthirsty murderer?the Baron asked himself. "A certain amount of killing is always a great deal," said the baron, "but there should be a limit, and someone must remain to produce the Spice of Decay." The Count let out a short, howling laugh. "You think you can use the Fremen?" "There won't be enough Fremen to do that job," said the Baron, "but the killings have unnerved my men. It's time for me to consider another way to solve the Arrakis problem , my dear Earl. I must admit that the emperor should be rewarded for his sweat.” "what?" "You know, Count. I have the Emperor's prison planet Sarus-Secundus to support me." The count stared at him very nervously. "What possible connection is there between Arrakis and Sarus-Secundus?" Sensing the alertness in Fenlon's eyes, the baron said, "There is no connection yet." "not yet?" "You have to admit that it is being used as a planetary prison in the same way that Arrakis developed material productivity." "You expect the number of prisoners to increase?" "There's an element of uneasiness," the baron admitted, "and I've got to squeeze pretty hard, Fenlon. You know, I paid the Gilders a huge fortune for transporting my army to Arrakis the hell out of it." The price. The money has to come somewhere." "I suggest that you don't use Arakis as a planetary prison without the emperor's permission." "Of course not," said the baron, surprised by Fenlon's suddenly cold voice. "Another thing," said the count, "we have heard that Safi Hawat, a Mentat of the Duke of Redo, is not dead, but employed by you." "I cannot lose him," said the Baron. "You lied to our Commander Sadoka that Hawat was dead." "Just a white lie, my dear count. I have no heart for a long quarrel with that man." "Is Hawat the real traitor?" "Oh, my God! No! It's the fake doctor," the baron wiped the sweat off his neck, "you should understand, Fenlon. I'm not like the Mentats, you know that. But I'm not It has always been different from the Mentat people, and this problem is not easy to solve.” "How did you convert Hawat?" "His duke is dead." The baron forced a smile. "There is nothing to fear from Hawat, my dear count. The flesh of this Mentat is impregnated with latent poison, and we infiltrate him in his food." An antidote, and without an antidote, he would die within a few days of the onset of toxicity." "Cancel the antidote," said the count. "However, he is still useful." "He knows too many things that no living person should know." "You said that the emperor is not afraid of things being exposed." "Don't play games with me, Baron!" "I will obey orders when I see the emperor's seal on them," he said, "but I will not obey your whims." "You think it was a whim?" "What else? The emperor should thank me, Fenlon. I got rid of the annoying duke for him." "With the help of a few Sadokars." "Where else can the emperor find a family that can furnish him with camouflaged uniforms and conceal his meddling in this matter?" "He asked himself the same question, but with a slightly different emphasis." The baron looked at Fenlon, noting that he was carefully controlling the hard muscles in his jaw. "Ah, now," said he, "I hope the Emperor will not believe that he can oppose me in this secret matter." "I hope it doesn't become necessary." "The emperor may not believe that I am threatening him!" The baron let his anger and sorrow show in his voice.He thought: let him wrong me in that matter!I can't sit on the throne and still pat my chest and say, how wronged I am! The earl's voice became dry and distant, and he said: "The emperor believes what his feelings tell him." "Does the Emperor dare to face the entire Landsrad Grand United Council and accuse me of disloyalty?" said the Baron.He held his breath and held out hope. "Your Majesty, there is no need to do anything." The Baron turned quickly in his sling weight reducer, hiding his expression.This could happen in my lifetime!He thought, Your Majesty, let him wrong me!Then an alliance of great houses will be formed: they will gather under my banner like peasants in a hurry to find a hiding place.What they feared was the Emperor's unbridled Sadoka attacking one family at a time. "The Emperor sincerely hopes that he will never accuse you of infidelity," said the count. The Baron found it difficult to keep the sarcasm in his words, but he did his best not to show the hurt. "I have been the most loyal of my subjects, and these words hurt me greatly." "Hmm... ah... um..." said the count. The baron turned his back to the count, nodded, and said: "Now is the time to go to the arena." "It is time to go," said the count. They stepped out of the soundproof cone and walked shoulder to shoulder towards the crowd of small families across the hall.Somewhere in the castle a dull bell rang—twenty minutes of continuous ringing to announce the assembly of the people in the arena. "People from the small families are waiting for you to lead them to the arena." The count said, nodding to those people. Puns...puns, the Baron thought. He looked up at the new row of talismans that flanked the hall exit—a gigantic bull's head and a painted portrait of the old Duke of Atrez, father of the late Duke of Ledo.They filled the Baron with a strange foreboding.He wondered what these talismans had instilled in Lord Ledo, for they had hung in the halls of Caladan and later in Arrakis.The brave father and the head of the bull that killed him. "Humanity has only . Tile floors. "What science is that?" asked the Baron. "It's um... ah unsatisfactory um... science," said the Count. The people from the various small families who followed them made flattering faces and smiled in moderately appreciative tones like answerers.But there was an incongruity in the laughter, as if mixed with the sudden start of a motorcycle.When the attendants opened the outer door, they saw a line of cars outside, pinstriped pennants waving in the breeze. The baron raised his voice above the sound of the motorcycle starting suddenly, and said, "I hope you will not be dissatisfied with my nephew's performance today, Lord Fenlon." "My... heart... is full of um... a feeling of anticipation, yes," The Earl said, "In the confession, one um... ah, has to consider... the origin of the official position." The baron staggered as he descended the first step, to conceal his sudden horror.Confession!That was a report on crimes against imperial power! But the count laughed, taking it as a joke, and slapped him on the arm. The entire journey to the arena, the Baron sat back in his car seat equipped with armored weapons.He stole a furtive glance at the earl next to him, wondering why the Emperor's messenger thought it necessary to make that particular joke in the presence of the small families.It's clear that Fenlon rarely does what he considers unnecessary, or uses two words where one would do. They sat in golden boxes in the triangular arena.The horns sounded together.The tiers of bleachers above and around it were packed with people and waving pennants.At this moment, the baron got an answer. "My dear baron," said the count close to his ear, "don't you know that the emperor has not officially approved your choice of heir?" The Baron felt himself suddenly entering a soundproof cone created by his shock.He stared at Fenlon, barely seeing the countess pass through the guards over there and enter the golden box. "That's the real reason I'm here today," said the Count. "The Emperor wants me to report to him on whether you've picked a suitable heir. There's nothing like a man who takes off his mask in the arena and reveals his true colors." That's embarrassing, isn't it?" "The emperor promised to let me choose my own heir!" said the baron angrily. "We'll take a look." Fenlon said and left to greet his wife.She sat down, smiled at the baron, and looked down at the sand.There, Phaede Rose was coming out in his bodysuit—a long sword in a black glove in his right hand, and a short sword in a white glove in his left hand. "White is poison and black is pure," said Mrs. Fenlon. "Strange attire, isn't it, my dear?" "Ah..." said the Count. Cheers erupted from the stands occupied by family members.Phaede Rose stopped to receive their cheers and greetings.He looked up and scanned the faces—his cousins, half-brothers, wives, relatives.Like so many pink trumpets, they shouted in a sea of ​​colorful costumes and flags. It occurred to Phaede Rose that the masked faces, eager to see the slave-fighter's blood, were equally eager to see his blood.Of course, in this gladiatorial fight, there is undoubtedly only one outcome, and there is only formal danger, not actual danger.But…… Phaede Rose salutes the three corners of the arena in the traditional manner, raising his two swords to the sun, the short sword sheathed first in the hand in the white glove (white, symbol of poison); The long sword in his hand - the pure sword is not pure now, and today he has turned it into a secret weapon of purely personal victory: a black blade coated with poison. Fastening the shield on the body took only a short time.He paused, feeling the skin on his forehead tighten, sure he was properly protected. The moment carries its own suspense, and Phaede Rose drags it out with the solid hand of a showman.He nodded to the steward and guards, examining their equipment with scrutiny.The spiky, gleaming fetters were in place, barbs and spikes flailing in blue streamers. Phaede Rose signals to the band. The band played a slow march, loud and loud because of the grand ceremony.Phaede Rose led his procession into the arena, and bowed under his uncle's golden box.When the key to the ceremony was thrown down, he caught it. The music stopped. In the sudden silence he stepped back, raised the key, and exclaimed, "Here is the key of truth to . Countess of Fenlon caused an incident. "My uncle and protector, Lord Vladmir Harkonnen!" cried Phaede Rose. He was pleased to see his uncle sighed. The music resumed at a fast pace, and Phaede Ross led his team, running back to the heavily guarded gate on the other side of the arena, which was only accessible to those wearing identification sash.Rose herself is cocky, never uses the heavily guarded gates, and rarely needs guards.But today, these are useful—special arrangements sometimes carry special dangers. Silence once again enveloped the arena. Phaede Rose turned to face the great red door opposite him, through which the accompanying gladiators would emerge. Special gladiators. Safi Hawat's plan was simple and straightforward, Feed Rose thought.Slave gladiators do not take narcotics - giving slave gladiators narcotics is dangerous.On the contrary, a key word is forced into that person, and at the critical moment, he does not know how to fix his muscles, so that he has no strength.Phaede Rose, reciting the key word over and over, said silently, "Damn!" To the audience, it seemed as if an undrugged slave-gladiator had slipped into the arena to kill the future Baron.All the careful arrangements were made for the slave managers. At the red gate, there was the low hum of the auxiliary motors, which were used to open that door. Phaede Rose watched the door intently, and the opening moment was the key.When a slave gladiator appears, his appearance tells the trained eye all it needs to know.All gladiators were supposed to be anesthetized subcutaneously so that as soon as they emerged, they were ready to be killed in fighting position.But you have to watch how they hold their knives, how they defend, whether they know the audience in the stands.The way slaves shake their heads may provide the most important clues to attack and counterattack. The red door slammed open. A tall, strong man with a bald head and deep-set dark eyes rushed out.His skin was the color of a carrot, the color of his skin after taking narcotics.But, Phaede Rose knew, the color was dyed.This slave wears green trousers and wears a half-shield belt—the arrow on the belt points to the left, indicating that his left side is guarded by the shield.He holds the sword in the style of a sword, slightly tilted outward in the pose of a trained warrior. Slowly, he stepped forward into the arena, turning his shielded side of the body toward Phaede Rose and the group by the heavily guarded gate. "I don't like the man," said one of the barbs for Phaede Ross. "Are you sure he was drugged, sir?" "He's got that color," said Phaede Rose. "But he stands like a warrior," said another guard. Phaede Rose took two steps forward, walked into the sand, and looked at the slave. "What happened to his arm?" said one of the guards. Phaede Rose noticed a bloody scratch on the slave's left forearm, running down the arm to the hand, pointing to a blood-drawn pattern on the buttocks of the green trousers - the outline of an eagle . eagle! Phaede Rose looked up into the deep set black eyes and saw them staring at him with great alarm. This is one of Lord Ledo's warriors we captured in Arrakis!This is no ordinary samurai, thought Phaede Rose!He shivered all over, wondering if Hawat had other plans—attack, attack, attack.Only the slave manager was punished. The steward of Phaede Rose said in his ear, "I don't like the look of that man, sir. Try a hook or two on his knife-arm." "I'll try him with barbs myself," Phaede Rose took a pair of long, barbed spears from the steward, and held them up, trying their balance.These barbs should also be medicated, but not this time.If so, the steward may be put to death.But, that's all there is to the plan. "After this gladiatorial fight, you will be a hero," Hawat said, "killing your warriors one by one, despite the trickery. The slave manager will be put to death, and your men will take his place." Phaede Rose took another five steps forward, entered the arena, and stood for a moment, sizing up the slave.He knew that the experts in the stands knew something was wrong.The samurai had normal-colored skin for a man who had been injected, and he stood firm, not shaking at all.The people in the stands would whisper to each other: "Look how well he stands, he should get excited--attack or retreat. Look, he's waiting, conserving his strength, he shouldn't be waiting." Phaed Rose felt his passion burn, to hell with the tricks in Hawat's head, he thought, I can handle this slave.This time it was my longsword, not my short sword, that had been poisoned, and not even Hawat knew it. "Hey, Harkonnen!" cried the slave. "Are you ready to die?" A dead silence hung over the arena.Slaves do not actively challenge. Now, Phaede Rose could clearly see the slave's cold gaze and the ferocity in his eyes. He studied the way the man stood, muscles slack ready for victory.Through the slave in the vineyard, the slave got the message from Hawat: "You're going to have a real chance to kill the little baron." That's what they planned. A nervous smile formed on the corners of Phaede Rose's mouth, and he raised his barb, standing like a warrior, confident that his plan would succeed. "Hi! Hi!" the slave challenged him, taking two steps forward. It looked like no one could get it wrong now, Ross thought. The slave should have been partially incapacitated by the fear of dwindling narcotics, his every movement should have been kept secret, he had no hope—he could not have won.He should well have known that the sword in the little baron's white-gloved hand was coated with poison.Never quick to kill his opponents, the Little Baron takes pleasure in proving the efficacy of rare poisons and can stand in the arena and point out the amusing side effects of twisted, writhing victims. There was a sense of fear in the slave—but not fear. Phaede Rose raised his barb aloft, nodding almost in welcome. The slave swooped on. His attacking and protective counterattacks are as good as anything Phaede Rose has ever seen.A good side blow, missing the opportunity to sever the veins in the little Baron's leg because of the exposed body. Phaede Rose sprang away, leaving on the slave's right forearm the lance with its barbs, the barbs piercing the flesh so well that it could not be pulled out without hurting the sinews. Everyone in the stands gasped. The sound pleased Phaede Ross. He knew what his uncle was going through now—sitting with Fenlon, the observer from the court, it was impossible to intervene in this gladiatorial fight.This is bound to be seen in the presence of many.The old baron would threaten him in the arena by asking him to explain in the only way possible. The slave backed away, knife between his teeth, and swung the pennanted, barbed spear in his arm. "I didn't touch your thorn!" He said loudly, and rushed forward again, holding the knife, and passed his left body up, bending his body back, protecting his body with half of the shield to the greatest extent. That action did not escape the viewers either, the screams coming from the boxes occupied by the family members.Phaede Rose's stewards were called to ask him if he wanted them. He waved them back to the heavily guarded door. I'm going to show them a spectacle they haven't seen before, thought Phaede Rose.It would surprise them that they could sit back and enjoy the gladiatorial fight without a disciplined kill.When I become a Baron one day, they will remember that day.For with this day, not one of them will be the one who is not afraid of me. The slave pushed forward like a crab, and Phaede Rose made room slowly.The sand of the arena crunched underfoot, and he heard the slave's rapid panting, smelled his sweat, and the faint smell of blood in the air. The little Baron stepped back firmly, dodging to the right, readying the second barb.The slave leaped aside, and Phaede Rose seemed to stagger, and all he heard was panicked screams from the stands. The slave sprang forward again. Oh, God!What a brave fighter!Phaede Rose thought as he jumped away.It was only the young man's agility that saved him.However, he thrust a second barbed spear into the muscle of the slave's right arm. Excited cheers erupted from the audience. They're cheering for me now, Phaede Rose thought.He heard cheers as Hawat had said, he would hear them.They had never cheered a family samurai like this before.He recalled with displeasure what Hawat had told him: "It's easy to be intimidated by an enemy you respect." Fei De Rose quickly retreated to the center of the arena, where everyone could see clearly. He drew out his long sword, squatted down, and waited for the slaves who rushed forward. The slave took only a moment to jerk the second spear fastened to his arm, and then increased the speed of his attack. Let the whole family see how I do, thought Phaede Ross, I am their enemy; let them think of me as they see me now. He drew his short sword. "I am not afraid of you, Harkonnen pig," said the slave. "Your torment cannot hurt a dead man. I can die by my own knife when a steward puts his finger on me. I will let you Died by my sword." Phaede Rose grinned grinningly, and drew out his poison-coated long sword. "Try this," he said, striking with the short sword in his other hand. The slave shifted the knife into the other hand and struck, grabbing the little baron's short sword--the white-gloved sword supposedly laced with poison. "You're going to die, Harkonnen!" cried the slave-fighter. Phaede Rose stood on the other side of the sand, his shield colliding with half of the slave's shield in a flash of blue light, and the air around them was filled with ozone from the ground. "Death by your own poison!" roared the slave. 他开始用力把菲得·罗斯戴白手套的手压向内弯，倒转他认为涂有毒药的那把短剑，朝菲得·罗斯身上刺下去。 让他们看看这个！菲得·罗斯想。他落下长剑，感到叮当一声，碰在那奴隶手臂上插着的长矛上，毫无用处。 菲得·罗斯感到一阵绝望，他没有想到带钩刺的长矛会对奴隶有利，长矛成了另一个屏蔽。这个奴隶的力气真大！短剑无情地被逼向内弯。菲得·罗斯注意到这样一个事实，一个人也可能死于一把没有涂毒药的剑上。 “饭桶！”菲得·罗斯大声说。 听到这个关键词，那奴隶的肌肉松弛了一下，这对菲得·罗斯来说已足够了。他推开那奴隶，闪开一个空间，足以让他把长剑刺进去。它那涂有毒药的剑尖轻轻地刺出，沿着奴隶的胸膛向下划了一条红色的口子。毒药立即产生出死的痛苦，那奴隶立即放手闪开，摇摇晃晃地后退。 现在，让我亲爱的家族成员看一看，菲得·罗斯想，让他们想到这个奴隶，他企图把他认为涂有毒药的剑倒转过来刺我。让他们去想一想，一个奴隶武士怎么能进入竞技场，企图杀死我。还让他们明白他们不能肯定地知道我的哪只手里拿着毒剑。 菲得·罗斯默默地站着，看着那个奴隶缓慢地晃动着，他犹豫不定，脸上出现一种每一位观众都能辨认出的、呈直角的东西，死亡就写在那里。那奴隶知道发生在自己身上的情况，也知道是如何发生的，错就错在不该涂有毒药的剑上涂上了毒药。 “你！”那奴隶呻吟着。 菲得·罗斯退后，给死亡让出空间。毒药中的瘫痪药成分充分发挥效应，但是那奴隶还在缓慢地前移。 奴隶摇摇摆摆地向前迈进，好像被一根绳子拉着似的——一次向前踉跄一步，每一步都是他生命中惟一的一步。他手里仍然擎着刀，刀尖颤动着。 总有一天，我们中……的一个……人……会……杀死…… “你。”他喘着气说。 随着一声悲惨的嚎叫，他嘴唇歪曲，然后坐下，蜷缩，变得僵硬，从菲得·罗斯面前滚开，脸朝下倒在地上。 菲得·罗斯往前走入静静的竞技场，把脚趾伸进那人的身下，把他翻过来面朝上，以便看清他的脸。这时毒药开始使肌肉扭曲，那奴隶用自己的刀刺进他自己的胸膛，只露出刀把。 尽管受到过挫折，对菲得·罗斯来说，仍然对那奴隶努力克服毒药的瘫痪效应，自己杀死自己的行为表示钦佩。同时，他也意识到，这里有一个使人真正感到害怕的东西。 使一个人成为超人的东西令人感到害怕。 在菲得·罗斯集中精力想这个问题的时候，他听到周围看台上爆发出来的喧嚣声，人们放肆地吼叫着。 菲得·罗斯抬头看着他们。 除了老男爵、伯爵和他的夫人，所有的人都在吹呼。老男爵用手支着下颌坐着，深思着。伯爵和他的夫人看着下面的他，脸上堆着笑容。 芬伦伯爵转身对他的夫人说：“啊……嗯……一个有潜力嗯……的年轻人。哦，嗯……啊，天啊！” 老男爵看看她，又看看伯爵，重新把注意力集中到竞技场上。 他想：要是有人能那样靠近我的人就好了！愤怒逐渐代替了害怕。 今晚，我将让那个奴隶管理人慢慢地在火上烤死……如果这个伯爵和他的夫人插手的话…… 对菲得·罗斯来说，老男爵包厢里的谈话太遥远，他们的谈话声淹没在来自四面八方踏脚的共鸣声中。 “头！头！头！” 老男爵皱着眉头，看见菲得·罗斯转身向着他。他努力控制住愤怒，不情愿地向站在竞技场上、躺着的奴隶的尸体旁的年轻人挥了挥手。给那个孩子一个人头，他揭露了奴隶管理人而赢得了它。 菲得·罗斯看到赞同的信号，想：他们认为他们给了我荣誉，要让他们明白我在想什么！ 他看见他的管家拿着一把锯刀走过来，准备砍下奴隶的头，便挥手让他们退回去。在他们犹豫不决时，再次挥手要他们退回去。 他们认为，他们仅仅用一个人头来给我荣誉！he thinks.他弯下腰，掰开奴隶握着插在胸膛上刀把的手，然后拔出刀，把刀放在奴隶那柔弱无力的手中。 一会儿就做完了这些事，他站起身来，打手势召来他的管家。 “把这个完整的奴隶和他手中的刀一起埋葬，”他说，“这个人值得如此。” 在金色包厢里，芬伦伯爵凑近老男爵，说：“崇高的行为，那个……真正勇敢的壮举。你的侄儿既有勇气又有风度。” “他拒绝接受那颗人头，他侮辱了我们大家。”老男爵说。 “决不是。”芬伦夫人说。她转过身，抬头看着四周的层层看台。 老男爵注意到她颈部的线条——一条条真正可爱的平滑肌肉——像一个小男孩。 “他们喜欢你侄儿所做的事。”她说。 当坐在最远的位置上的人都明白了菲得·罗斯的举动时，当人们看到管家把完整的奴隶的尸体抬走时，老男爵看着他们，并意识到她对这个举动的看法是正确的。人们发了狂，相互击打着，尖叫着，踏着脚。 老男爵疲乏地说：“我将不得不命令举行一次贺宴。你不能这样让人们回家去，他们的精力还没有用完，他们应该看到我与他们一样高兴。”他向卫兵打了个手势，一个卫兵跑到包厢上面，把橘红色的哈可宁三角旗举起，放下——一次，两次，三次——发出举行宴会的信号。 菲得·罗斯跨过竞技场，站在金色包厢下面。他的剑插在剑鞘里，手臂悬垂在两侧，用比逐渐减弱的狂吼声大的声音说：“举行一次贺宴，叔叔？” 人们看见他们在讲话，狂吼声停止了，他们等待着。 “为你庆功，菲得！”老男爵对着下面大声说。他再一次命令用三角旗发出信号。 竞技场对面，严密守卫的人撤了下去，一些年轻人跳入竞技场，向菲得·罗斯跑去。 “你命令守卫撤除，男爵？”伯爵问。 “没有人会伤害这小伙子，他是英雄。”老男爵说。 第一批年轻人冲到菲得·罗斯面前，把他举到肩上，开始绕着竞技场游行。 “今晚他可以不带武器，不穿屏蔽，走过哈可宁最糟糕的地区，”老男爵说，“他们会给他自己的最后一点食物，与他一起喝酒。” 老男爵自己从椅子上撑起来，把他的重量安顿在吊带减重器里。“请原谅，有些事我要立即去处理，卫兵会把你们送到城堡。” 伯爵站起来，鞠了一躬。“当然，男爵。我们盼望着庆功宴会。我还从来没有嗯……参加过哈可宁人的宴会。” “是的，”老男爵说，“庆功宴会。”他转身从包厢里他的私人出口走出去，立即被他的卫兵包围。 一个卫队长向伯爵鞠躬道：“您有什么吩咐，阁下？” “我们将啊……等待最拥挤嗯……的时候过去。”伯爵说。 “是的，阁下。”那人弯着腰往后退了三步。 芬伦伯爵面对着他的夫人，用他们自己的密语说：“当然，你也看见了？” 用同样的密语，她说：“那小子知道，那个奴隶武士没被注射麻醉药。有一刻的害怕，是的，但是并不使他感到惊奇。” “那是计划安排好了的，”他说，“这整个的表演。” “毫无疑问是这样。” “这与哈瓦特有关。” “确实如此。”她说。 “我早些时候就要求老男爵除掉哈瓦特。” “那是一个错误，亲爱的。” “我现在知道了。” “不久哈可宁人也许有一个新的男爵。” “如果那是哈瓦特的计划的话。” “那将经过检验，真的。”她说。 “那个年轻人将会更容易控制。” “为我们……今晚之后。”她说。 “你没有预料到引诱他的困难，我孩子的母亲？” “不，亲爱的。你看见了他是怎样看我的。” “是的，我现在能看到。我必须要看到有那种血缘关系的原因。” “的确，很明显我们必须控制住他。我将在他内心深处，深深地灌输送控制肌肉——神经的箴言，使他屈服。” “我们将尽快离开这里——一旦你肯定。”他说。 她战栗着：“尽一切努力。我可不想在这个可怕的地方生孩子。” “我们是为整个人类而做这事的。”他说。 “你所做的是最容易的事。”她说。 “有一些传统的偏见我要去克服，”他说，“它们相当原始，你知道。” “我可怜的人，”她说，拍了拍他的脸颊，“你知道，这是惟一的一定会拯救那种血缘关系的办法。” 他用一种干瘪的声音说：“我相当理解我们所做的事。” “我们不会失败。”她说。 “罪恶开始于一种失败的感觉。”他提醒说。 “将不会是犯罪，”她说，“那个菲得·罗斯的灵魂和我子宫中的孩子，在催眠状态中结合——然后我们就离开。” “那个叔叔，”他说，“你曾看到过如此的变形吗？” “他十分凶狠，”她说，“但是这个侄儿可能会变得更凶狠。” “感谢那个叔叔。你知道，你认为用其他方式来抚养——比如说，用阿特雷兹的道德规范去引导他——这小子可能会是什么样子？” “这很可悲。”她说。 “但愿我们能拯救那个阿特雷兹年轻人和这个年轻人。从我听说的、关于那个年轻人保罗的情况来看，保罗是一个可敬的小伙子，是抚养和训练优良的结合，”他摇摇头，“但是，我们不应该对贵族的不幸过多地悲伤。” “比·吉斯特有一句名言。”她说。 “对每一件事你总有名言。”他抗议道。 “你会喜欢这一句名言的，”她说，“'在你见到尸体之前，不要认为一个人死了。'甚至那时你也可能犯错误。”