For instance, he breathed heavily from the beginning of the second round, as though he were clean out of condition.
But each round found him strong and quick to press an advantage.

After one blow, which toppled his opponent through the ropes, Shere Ali clapped his hands.
"Bravo!" he cried; and one of the youths at his side said to his companion: "This fellow's a Jew, too.

Look at his face." For twelve rounds the combatants seemed still to be upon equal terms, though those in the audience who had knowledge began to shake their heads over the chances of the soldier.

Shere Ali, however, was still racked by suspense.

The fight had become a symbol, almost a message to him, even as his gift to the Mullah had become a message to the people of Chiltistan.
All that he had once loved, and now furiously raged against, was represented by the soldier, the confident, big, heavily built soldier, while, on the other hand, by the victory of the Jew all the subject peoples would be vindicated.