g them conquerors.

But Odd replied:

This is the answer I give thee:--
In Othin's hall tonight,
Twelve berserks shall feast,
Every one as a guest,
While we shall live on in the light.

Hjalmar and Odd saw that Angantyr had Tyrfing in his hand, for it
flashed like a sunbeam.

Hjalmar said: "Will you fight against Angantyr alone, or against all
his eleven brothers?"

"I will fight against Angantyr," replied Odd; "He will give mighty
strokes with Tyrfing; but I have more faith in the protection of my
shirt than in that of your mail-coat."

Then cried Hjalmar: "When did you and I ever go to battle and you took
the lead of me? You want to fight Angantyr because you hold that to be
the deed of greater prowess. I am the leader in this combat, however,
and far other was the vow I made to the daughter of the King of the
Swedes than to let you or anybody else come before me in the fight. It
is I who am going to fight Angantyr."

And with that he drew his sword and stepped forth to meet Angantyr and
they commended one another to Valhalla[2]. Hjalmar and Angantyr then
made ready for the combat, and mighty strokes fell thick and fast
between them.

Odd called to the berserks, saying:

Man to man should a warrior fight
Who would win a well-fought day,--
Unless it be that his courage fail,
Or his valour has ebbed away.

Then Hjoervarth advanced, and he and Odd had a stiff encounter; but
Odd's silken shirt was so strong that no weapon could pierce it. And
so good was his sword that it cut through iron as easily as cloth; and
few strokes had he dealt ere Hjoervarth fell dead.

Then Hervarth came on and the same thing happened;--then Hrani, then
each of the others in turn. And with such force did Odd encounter them
all that he slew every one of the eleven brothers. As for the combat
between Hjalmar and Angantyr, the upshot was that Hjalmar was wounded
in sixteen places, and then Angantyr fell dead.

Then Odd went over to where Hjalmar lay and cried:

O Hjalmar! Why has thy face grown pale
As the face of men who die?
Wide gape the rents in byrnie and helm,
And I fear that the end draws nigh;
And the strength of manhood has gone from thine arm,
And the light of life from thine eye.

Hjalmar made answer[3]:

With sixteen wounds is my mailcoat rent,
And the world is fading fast.
Blindly I tread in the gathering gloom,
Pierced to the heart at the last