“No offense is offered you,” said the giant king kindly. “Elli is no mean opponent. Many a bold champion before now she has brought to his knees.”
As he spoke, there hobbled into the room a hag so bent, so wrinkled, so infirm, that Thor drew back in anger and dismay.
“Elli,” said the giant king, “will you wrestle with the god Thor?”
The old dame nodded her head, and tottering up to the god, cackled tauntingly in his face. “Throw me!” she quavered. “Throw me!”
Enraged beyond endurance, Thor seized her about the waist, meaning to lay her gently upon the floor. But the harder he gripped her, the steadier she stood. Bracing all his muscles Thor took a new hold, but the hag had grasped him in her turn. Something in her slow embrace seemed to sink into his very limbs. His arms loosened. His legs weakened. Before he knew it, he dropped kneeling before her.
“Enough, Elli!” cried the giant king. “Let Thor go. We must give him better entertainment. Come, minstrels. Come, cooks; deck out our board and feast our guests like gods.”
In a twinkling a magnificent repast was spread, and giant jokes sped about the hall. The minstrels played great, sounding tunes upon their mammoth harps, and the giants did their best to make their guests forget the outcome of all their boasting. But the gods, humbled and downcast, took little part in the merrymaking. Even Thor, who had resumed his natural size, had no more pride left in him. They sat silent and dejected, and went off early to bed.
The cat was none other than the terrible serpent
Next morning they rose before daybreak, hoping to escape from the palace without seeing the giants again. But the giant king was up before them, and in the great hall a breakfast stood ready. After they had finished, the king himself led them down the gleaming roadway, and out through the great ice gate, rosy with the light of dawn.