Hunters of Dune - Brian Herbert [174]
With glimmering orange eyes, the women had noticed the Ithaca’s lighter on the far side of the clearing. Now, two of the Honored Matres burst impulsively out of the noisome cell, delivering swift kicks and blows, knocking aside the stunner goads.
But the Handlers and Futars were well practiced in fending off any resistance. Before the whores could run, the black-striped Futar pounced, driving one of them to the ground. He bared his long teeth at her throat, barely restraining himself from ripping out her larynx and ending the anticipated hunt too soon. She thrashed wildly, but the Futar dug claws into her shoulder, pinning her with his strength and weight.
Hrrm had trapped the second woman, circling her, his muscles coiled. A hungry growl bubbled in his throat. The younger Futars paced nearby, wanting part of the kill.
“Not yet.” The Chief Handler allowed a calm smile to flow across his long, streamlined face. Hrrm and Black Stripe froze; the younger ones howled.
Miles Teg had no great love for the Honored Matres, knowing the havoc they had wrought among the Bene Gesserit and how they had tortured him. They had already killed him once, when they devastated Rakis. But as a military commander, the Bashar viewed them as opponents against whom he should carry no undue malice. Young Thufir Hawat, seeing the Bashar’s intense concentration, imitated him, gathering data as the basis for making further decisions.
The old Rabbi looked squeamish at the very thought of the hunt, even though Honored Matres had hunted his people, too, on Gammu. Sheeana stood by silently, accepting the violence that was sure to take place. She was quite intrigued.
“We will kill you,” snarled the Honored Matre whom Hrrm held at bay. She crouched, holding her hands out as weapons, ready to spring. Hrrm was not intimidated by her.
The six young Futars snapped and snarled, eager for their own hunt. Their primal hunger went beyond the desire for mere food. The other three whores emerged from the tree-stump cell. Although they were wary and ready to fight, they decided to wait for a better chance.
“We will kill you,” repeated the first trapped Honored Matre.
“You will have the opportunity to try.” Orak Tho stood straight, the dark band across his eyes falling into shadow. “Take them into the forest where they can run.”
“Why not just execute us here?”
“Because we would not enjoy that as much.” Several of the Handlers smiled. They were calm and confident in their superiority.
As she watched, Sheeana tried to formulate a conjecture about these mysterious isolated people, where they had come from and what their true goals might be. She took a step toward the nearest Honored Matre. “Tell us your names, so that I might make a body record when this day is done.”
The whore that was still pinned under the black-striped Futar thrashed and yowled. The calmer Honored Matre merely fixed Sheeana with a frozen gaze.
Orak Tho raised his hand lightly, cutting off any further shows of bravado. “Your name will be forgotten by the time your flesh passes through the digestive systems of these Futars. You will end your physical existence as excrement on the forest floor.”
The Chief Handler turned his back and strode away with his longlegged, loose-jointed gait. The ravenous Futars closed in to prevent the women from making another escape attempt, herding them along.
“Come, out into the forest.” Orak Tho glanced back at the seething Honored Matres. “Out there, you will have your chance to shed blood, or die in the attempt.”
ATOP A TALL, open-framed lookout tower constructed of smooth silvery-blond wood, Teg stood on the open platform, grasped a railing, and looked down into the forest. Sheeana was with him. Handlers guarded the base of the tower, their stun-goads ready in case the hunted Honored Matres should come at them like an unexpected ricochet in their flight from the prowling Futars. The guards did not