dous arms must break him at
the first touch.

But the grasping hands slipped off the lithe body as if it were oiled,
leaving only angry red welts along Quirl's ribs. As the officer edged
away he planted two blows on Gore's nose, which began to bleed freely.

Again Gore rushed, and _spat!_ _spat!_ two seemingly light blows
landed on his face, opening a cut above his eye and another on his
cheek bone. In a few seconds of battling he had become a shocking
sight, with his features almost obscured by welling blood.

Again Quirl measured him, and this time, instead of evading the grasp
of the mate's eager arms, he stepped right between them. Like a wraith
he slipped into their embrace, and before they could grasp him,
standing so close that his chest almost touched his adversary's, he
whipped a right to Gore's jaw. It was the kind of punch that makes
champions, a whiplike lash of the forearm, with relaxed muscles that
tighten at the moment of impact. A punch with "follow-through" fit to
knock out ninety-nine men out of a hundred.

But it did not knock out Gore, and Quirl had to pay dearly for his
error. Gore was staggered, but his mighty arms closed, hugging his
slighter opponent to his hairy chest so that the breath was choked out
of him, and the metal studs on his harness gouged cruelly into Quirl's
flesh. His face was blue before he could work his arm loose, and begin
to prod with stiffened fingers at Gore's throat. Gore had to let go
then, and Quirl broke away, boxed for a few moments until he had
recovered, and then proceeded to chop Gore's face beyond any semblance
of humanity.

The mate had dropped his ray weapon, and now searched for it with
blinded eyes. He flung his riot club, and it flew wide of the mark. It
was obvious that he was going to be beaten into insensibility.

* * * * *

The guard on the platform, seeing the trend of the battle, shouted
hoarsely up the well, and in a few minutes four men, hard-bitten,
villainous looking fellows, tumbled down the ladder and joyously
joined in the fray. It was then only a matter of seconds before Quirl
lay on the floor-plates, battered and bleeding, but still feebly
fighting, while Gore sat astride him, seeking with vicious fingers for
Quirl's eyes. At the same time his men were kicking at the helpless
man's body wherever they could reach him.

At the sight of this brutality the other prisoners, forgetting for the
moment their own c