Sandworms of Dune - Brian Herbert [161]
He felt like a gladiator on ancient Terra having to prove himself in an arena. And he had a fatal weakness: Omnius held Chani, Jessica, Duncan, and so many others as hostages. If Paul got his ghola memories back, his feelings for them would be even stronger.
Obviously, that was how Omnius intended to force Paul to cooperate, if he won this duel. His love for his companions would only intensify, and they would suffer because of him. Since the computer evermind had far more patience than any human, the machines could torture and kill these hostages with impunity, take cell scrapings and grow new gholas. Over and over! Perhaps Erasmus would bring back his sister Alia, his father the Duke, or Gurney, or Thufir. Kill them, resurrect them, and kill them again. Unless Paul Atreides, the Kwisatz Haderach, bowed to their demands, the thinking machines would make his life an unending hell. Or so they intended.
Now he understood the dilemma of his destiny. And again he saw himself dying in a pool of blood. Perhaps some things could not be changed. But if he was a true Kwisatz Haderach, he should be able to defeat such petty tactics.
He fought on with wild passion, driving himself into a sweaty frenzy. Paolo kicked at him with his feet and slashed with the Emperor’s dagger. Paul dove, rolled, and the younger ghola pounced on him. The Emperor’s blade drove down hard in what would have been a killing thrust, but Paul slipped to the side, barely in time.
The blade slashed his sleeve, cut a thin line of blood on his left shoulder, then clanged against the stone floor. Paolo, his wrist jolted by the sharp impact, barely maintained a grip on the hilt.
On the polished floor, Paul swept his feet sideways, getting them under his rival and kicking upward. He did have the advantage of being physically stronger than a twelve-year-old. Paul grabbed his counterpart’s wrist and pulled himself to his feet, but Paolo locked his fingers around Paul’s knife arm, preventing the crysknife from stabbing down. Paul pushed, using his leverage to maneuver them both back toward the shimmering lava fountain.
“Not very . . . innovative!” The younger ghola’s breath rasped as he struggled, and Paul continued to drive him back. The heat from the fountain gushed in all directions. If he knocked Paolo into the incandescent metal, would he be killing himself—or saving himself?
Paul saw his opponent clearly and could not hate the other ghola. At the core, both of them were Paul Atreides. Paolo was not innately evil, but had been corrupted by terrible things that had been done to him, things he had been taught, not things done of his own volition. Paul did not let his sympathy for his rival weaken him. If he did, Paolo would not hesitate to kill him and claim victory. But Paul—because he was Paul—would fight with every ounce of his being to save the future of humanity.
Omnius and Erasmus observed without cheering for either fighter. They would accept whichever one proved victorious. Khrone’s shadowed, olive-pit eyes held no emotion at all. The Baron was scowling. Paul didn’t want to look toward Chani or his mother.
The roaring lava fountain dumped heat into the air. Paul’s already sweaty body became slicker. Wiry Paolo used that to his advantage, squirmed, and Paul’s grip began to slip. Suddenly, at the very verge of the fountain, the younger man allowed his knees to buckle.
Paul overcompensated, which threw him off balance. He kneed his opponent in the stomach, but young Paolo had untapped reserves. When Paul raised the crysknife in his