began to
feel his balance slipping from him under the full weight of Ishmael upon
his chest and stomach; his spine felt as though if it curved a fraction
more it would crack. He could not move his feet for the strong coil of
Ishmael's legs around his, and he knew that in a moment more he must
fall backwards with the weight still upon him. The only joints in which
he still had play were his ankles; stiffening them he began to incline
forwards. Slowly the interlocked bodies, like a swaying tower, came up
and up, till the watchers caught their breath wondering what would
happen to the one who was undermost in the fall if both stayed so
unyielding.

But Ishmael, whose brain was working with that clarity only attained
when it is responding to trained instinct, almost mechanically relaxed
his grip on the other's spine when he felt the angle coming forward,
then, using all his nerve, he waited--waited till the forward angle, in
which he was the underneath, had become acute, till the momentum of the
fall had begun. Then he relaxed his grip on one of Doughty's legs, at
the same time forcing the other outwards with all the strength of his
foot and leg. Doughty had to unstiffen a knee to prevent himself coming
taut and prone on the ground, and a hard shove with Ishmael's elbow,
thrown backwards against his shoulder, combined with the leg-play to
send him spinning sideways. The momentum was too great for him to
regulate the fall, and he came fairly on both shoulders, while Ishmael,
who had been thrown forwards on one knee, picked himself up and stood
reeling slightly but unhurt.

The sticklers ran forward to help Doughty to his feet, but he lay
motionless, eyes closed. In his mind, as he lay there, worked the
thought that he did not wish either to go on with the fight or to let
Ishmael triumph as at an easy victory. He would frighten him, frighten
them all, by making out he was very badly hurt. His spine, that would
do.... Opening his eyes he murmured, "My back ... my back ..." and made
as though trying to move. A terrible pang shot through his spine as he
did so. His next cry was a scream of real pain and fear. The tears
gathered in his eyes with his rage and terror. He cried, "You've done
for me; you've broken my back! Oh, my back; curse you, my back!..."

The others were terrified. For the second time that evening Ishmael was
seized by the awful feeling of irrevocableness, of an impossible thing
having happened and of it bei