Then Hromund climbed down by a rope.—It was during the night; and when he had got down, he gathered up a great amount of treasure and bound it to the end of the rope.
Thrain had been King of Valland in bygone days and had won all his victories by magic. He had wrought great evil; and when he was so old that he could fight no longer, he had got himself shut up alive in the barrow, and much treasure along with him.
Now Hromund saw a sword hanging up on a pillar. He took it down, girded it on, and marched up to the throne, saying:
"It is time for me to leave the barrow since there is no-one to stop me. But what ails you, old fellow? Have you not seen me gathering up your money while you sit quietly by, you hateful cur? Were you not ashamed to look on while I took your sword and necklace and ever so many more of your treasures?"
Thrain said that he cared for nothing if only he would let him sit quietly on his throne: "Formerly," he continued, "I used to be the first to fight. I must have become a great coward if I let you rob me of my wealth single handed; but I'm going to prevent your taking my treasures; you had better beware of me, dead though I am."
Then said Hromund: "Hoist yourself up on your legs, coward and weakling, and take back your sword from me if you dare."
The ghost replied: "There is no glory in attacking me with a sword when I am unarmed. I would rather try my strength in wrestling with you."
Then Hromund flung down the sword and trusted to his strength. When Thrain saw that, he took down his cauldron which he kept above him. He was by no means pleasant to watch as he blew up his fire, ready to make a meal from the cauldron. The body of the cauldron was full, and there was a big flame beneath its feet. Thrain was wearing a gold-wrought mantle. Both his hands were crooked and his finger nails were like talons.
Hromund said: "Get down off your throne, vile wretch, now that you have been robbed of all wealth."