"Brian Herbert - Dune - Nightime Shadows On Open Sand" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

Behind them, the fresh-faced recruit Josten fumbled for his own weapon. "It would be easier just
to shoot them from above."

"What kind of sport would that be?" Garan asked in his gruff voice.

"Or is it just that you don't want blood on your new uniform, kid?" Kiel called over his shoulder.
They stood beside the armored craft looking across the moonlit dunes, where the two scrawny nomads
stumbled away (as if they had any hope of escape once a Harkonnen trooper decided to target them).

Garan grabbed his weapon, and the three of them strode across the sands. The two Fremen youths
scuttled like beetles, but the threat of the troops might cause them to turn around and surrender
тАж or better yet, fight like cornered rats.

"I've heard stories about these Fremen." Josten panted as he kept up with the two older men.
"Their children are said to be killers, and their women will torture you in ways that even Piter
de Vries couldn't imagine."


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Kiel gave a rude snort of laughter. "We've got lasguns, Josten. What are they going to doтАФthrow
rocks at us?"

"Some of them carry maula pistols."

Garan looked back at the young recruit, then gave a shrug. "Why don't you go back to the 'thopter
and get our stunner, then? We can use a wide field if things get bad."

"Yeah," Kiel said, "that way we can make this last longer." The two white-clad Fremen continued to
flounder across the sand, and the Harkonnen troopers closed the distance with purposeful strides.

Glad for the opportunity to be away from the fight, Josten sprinted over the dune toward the
waiting 'thopter. From the dune top, he looked back at his companions, then rushed to the darkened
craft. As he ducked inside, he encountered a man clad in desert tans, hands flicking across the
controls with the speed of a snake on a hot plate.

"Hey, what are youтАФ" Josten cried.

In the cabin light he saw that the figure had a narrow leathery face. The eyes captivated him:
blue-within-blue, with the sharp intensity of a man accustomed to killing. Before Josten could
react, his arm was grabbed with a grip as strong as an eagle's talon, and he was dragged deeper
into the cockpit. The Fremen's other hand flashed, and he saw a curved, milky-blue knife strike
up. A bright icicle of pain slashed into his throat, all the way back to his spineтАФthen the knife
was gone before even a droplet of blood could cling to its surface.

Like a scorpion that had just unleashed its sting, the Fremen backed up. Josten fell forward,
already feeling red death spreading from his throat. He tried to say something, to ask a question
that seemed all-important to him, but his words only came out as a gurgle. The Fremen snatched