Jarngrim.—I gather shields for my roof.
Thorolf.—Shields?
Jarngrim.—Those that drop from the hands of men slain in battle.
Thorolf (in fear and wrath).—You plunder the dead!
Jarngrim.—Mine are all the slain!
Thorolf.—Are you Woden, then, the father of all devils? (Draws his sword and strikes at him, but the blow strikes the roof of the cave.)
Jarngrim (who has not stirred while the blow was struck).—Rarely avails the blow which is struck too high.
Thorolf (holds his shield before his body, with his sword behind it, and peers under the hood of JARNGRIM).—You startled not!
Jarngrim.—But you have changed color. I never blink my eyes.
Thorolf.—Yet it may go ill with but one eye, you evil spirit!