Each time, Paul's counterblow came an instant late.
And Jessica saw a thing she hoped Jamis did not see. Paul's defensive reactions were blindingly fast, but they moved each time at the precisely correct angle they would take if a shield were helping deflect part of Jamis'
blow.
"Is your son playing with that poor fool?" Stilgar asked. He waved her to silence before she could respond. "Sorry; you must remain silent."
Now the two figures on the rock floor circled each other; Jamis with knife hand held far forward and tipped up slightly; Paul crouched with knife held low.
Again, Jamis pounced, and this time he twisted to the right where Paul had been dodging.
Instead of faking back and out, Paul met the man's knife hand on the point of his own blade. Then the boy was gone, twisting away to the left and thankful for Chani's warning.
Jamis backed into the center of the circle, rubbing his knife hand. Blood dripped from the injury for a moment, stopped. His eyes were wide and staring--
two blue-black holes--studying Paul with a new wariness in the dull light of the glowglobes.
"Ah, that one hurt," Stilgar murmured.
Paul crouched at the ready and, as he had been trained to do after first blood, called out: "Do you yield?"
"Hah!" Jamis cried.
An angry murmur arose from the troop.
"Hold!" Stilgar called out. "The lad doesn't know our rule." Then, to Paul:
"There can be no yielding in the tahaddi-challenge. Death is the test of it."
Jessica saw Paul swallow hard. And she thought: He's never killed a man like this . . . in the hot blood of a knife fight. Can he do it?
Paul circled slowly right, forced by Jamis' movement. The prescient knowledge of the time-boiling variables in this cave came back to plague him now. His new understanding told him there were too many swiftly compressed decisions in this fight for any clear channel ahead to show itself.
Variable piled on variable--that was why this cave lay as a blurred nexus in his path. It was like a gigantic rock in the flood, creating maelstroms in the current around it.
"Have an end to it, lad," Stilgar muttered. "Don't play with him."
Paul crept farther into the ring, relying on his own edge in speed.
Jamis backed now that the realization swept over him--that this was no soft offworlder in the tahaddi ring, easy prey for a Fremen crysknife.
Jessica saw the shadow of desperation in the man's face. Now is when he's most dangerous, she thought. Now he's desperate and can do anything. He sees that this is not like a child of his own people, but a fighting machine born and trained to it from infancy. Now the fear I planted in him has come to bloom.
And she found in herself a sense of pity for Jamis--an emotion tempered by awareness of the immediate peril to her son.
Jamis could do anything . . . any unpredictable thing, she told herself. She wondered then if Paul had glimpsed this future, if he were reliving this experience. But she saw the way her son moved, the beads of perspiration on his face and shoulders, the careful wariness visible in the flow of muscles. And for the first time she sensed, without understanding it, the uncertainty factor in Paul's gift.
Paul pressed the fight now, circling but not attacking. He had seen the fear in his opponent. Memory of Duncan Idaho's voice flowed through Paul's awareness:
"When your opponent fears you, then's the moment when you give the fear its own rein, give it the time to work on him. Let it become terror. The terrified man fights himself. Eventually, he attacks in desperation. That is the most dangerous moment, but the terrified man can be trusted usually to make a fatal mistake. You are being trained here to detect these mistakes and use them. "
The crowd in the cavern began to mutter.
They think Paul's toying with Jamis, Jessica thought. They think Paul's being needlessly cruel.
But she sensed also the undercurrent of crowd excitement, their enjoyment of the spectacle. And she could see the pressure building up in Jamis. The moment when it became too much for him to contain was as apparent to her as it was to Jamis . . . or to Paul.
Jamis leaped high, feinting and striking down with his right hand, but the hand was empty. The crysknife had been shifted to his left hand.
Jessica gasped.
But Paul had been warned by Chani: "Jamis fights with either hand." And the depth of his training had taken in that trick en passant. "Keep the mind on the knife and not on the hand that holds it, " Gurney Halleck had told him time and again. "The knife is more dangerous than the hand and the knife can be in either hand."
And Paul had seen Jamis' mistake: bad footwork so that it took the man a heartbeat longer to recover from his leap, which had been intended to confuse Paul and hide the knife shift.
Except for the low yellow light of the glowglobes and the inky eyes of the staring troop, it was similar to a session on the practice floor. Shields didn't count where the body's own movement could be used against it. Paul shifted his own knife in a blurred motion, slipped sideways and thrust upward where Jamis'
chest was descending--then away to watch the man crumble.
Jamis fell like a limp rag, face down, gasped once and turned his face toward Paul, then lay still on the rock floor. His dead eyes stared out like beads of dark glass.
"Killing with the point lacks artistry," Idaho had once told Paul, "but don't let that hold your hand when the opening presents itself."
The troop rushed forward, filling the ring, pushing Paul aside. They hid Jamis in a frenzy of huddling activity. Presently a group of them hurried back into the depths of the cavern carrying a burden wrapped in a robe.
And there was no body on the rock floor.
Jessica pressed through toward her son. She felt that she swam in a sea of robed and stinking backs, a throng strangely silent.
