"Some of you strike hard blows," he said. "Which, then, will sever this with a clean cut with one blow of the sword?"
"I will try," cried Guthrun, for he, like all the vikings, loved trial of strength.
So he took the mace and set it on the riven block, and with bared arms he lifted his sword high in the air and smote with all his force, and the sword bit deep into the iron, but severed it not.
Then tried Osbern, and after him tried Halfdane, and after him the Norse Jarl Eric, and after him Biorn Ironsides the Mighty, and not one of them could cut quite through the bar.
Then Wulnoth took his great sword, and he said, "Give me another bar, for this one is much cut now, and let it be stouter and stronger."
"This braggart shall not humble us," thought Hungwar, and he sent for his own mace, and the handle was nigh two inches thick.
"Canst cut that, boaster?" he said; and Guthrun cried out that it was not fair since 't was twice as thick as the other.
But Wulnoth swung high his sword, and the keen blade sang in the air like the scream of the gull as it flies before the storm. And lo, the iron was sheered in twain, clean cut, and the block beneath it split in two beneath the blow.
"Skoal to the Wanderer!" cried the vikings. "Worthy is he to be of our number!" But Wulnoth said—