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The
adjustment
of
his
body
shield
took
only
a
moment
,
and
he
paused
to
sense
the
skin
-
tightening
at
his
forehead
assuring
him
he
was
properly
guarded
.
This
moment
carried
its
own
suspense
,
and
Feyd
-
Rautha
dragged
it
out
with
the
sure
hand
of
a
showman
,
nodding
to
his
handlers
and
distractors
,
checking
their
equipment
with
a
measuring
stare
—
gyves
in
place
with
their
prickles
sharp
and
glistening
,
the
barbs
and
hooks
waving
with
their
blue
streamers
.
Feyd
-
Rautha
signaled
the
musicians
.
The
slow
march
began
,
sonorous
with
its
ancient
pomp
,
and
Feyd
-
Rautha
led
his
troupe
across
the
arena
for
obeisance
at
the
foot
of
his
uncle
’
s
box
.
He
caught
the
ceremonial
key
as
it
was
thrown
.
The
music
stopped
.
Into
the
abrupt
silence
,
he
stepped
back
two
paces
,
raised
the
key
and
shouted
.
“
I
dedicate
this
truth
to
.
.
.
.
”
And
he
paused
,
knowing
his
uncle
would
think
:
The
young
fool
’
s
going
to
dedicate
to
Lady
Fenring
after
all
and
cause
a
ruckus
!
“
.
.
.
to
my
uncle
and
patron
,
the
Baron
Vladimir
Harkonnen
!
”
Feyd
-
Rautha
shouted
.
And
he
was
delighted
to
see
his
uncle
sigh
.
The
music
resumed
at
the
quick
-
march
,
and
Feyd
-
Rautha
led
his
men
scampering
back
across
the
arena
to
the
prudence
door
that
admitted
only
those
wearing
the
proper
identification
band
.
Feyd
-
Rautha
prided
himself
that
he
never
used
the
pru
-
door
and
seldom
needed
distractors
.
But
it
was
good
to
know
they
were
available
this
day
—
special
plans
sometimes
involved
special
dangers
.
Again
,
silence
settled
over
the
arena
.
