The cat arched his back, not resisting at all. Heave and strain as he might, Thor could only get one paw off the floor.
"I imagined as much," said Utgard-Loki. "Even my cat is too large for such a little one."
"Little I may be," cried Thor. "Yet let me see the man here who will wrestle with me at this moment."
Utgard-Loki looked at the massive figures ranged along the benches.
"I see no one small enough for that. If you must wrestle, however—call old Elli, the nurse. She has thrown many a better man than you have yet proved yourself."
In came a bent, withered, toothless old crone. At
the king's bidding, she grappled with the aroused Thor.
Violently he strove, till the muscles on his arms and legs stood out like ropes. Locking his mighty arms, he strained this way and that. The more he put forth his power, the firmer did the frail old woman seem to stand.
Then Thor began to feel an inexorable grip tightening upon himself. He struggled as if his very life hung on the issue. Yet his legs began to bend. Presently he was forced down upon one knee.
Old Elli released him and hobbled off. With heaving breast, dripping sweat, and vastly ashamed, Thor stood up before them.