Then said the ghost: "To be sure, it is high time to get on my legs, since you taunt me with lack of courage."
Day departed, and evening drew on, and it became dark in the barrow. Then the ghost began wrestling with Hromund and threw down his cauldron. Hromund put forth all his strength, and they fought so hard that rubble and stones were torn up. Then the ghost sank down on one knee, saying:
"You press me hard: you are indeed a brave fellow."
Hromund replied: "Stand up on your feet again without support. You are much weaker than Mani the peasant said."
Then Thrain turned himself into a troll, and the barrow was filled with a horrible stench: and he stuck his claws into the back of Hromund's neck, tearing the flesh from his bones down to his loins, saying:
"You need not complain if the game is rough and your body sore, for I am going to tear you limb from limb."
"I cannot imagine," cried Hromund, "how such a cat has got into this barrow!"
The ghost replied: "You must have been brought up by Gunnlöth. There are not many like you."
"It will go ill with you," said Hromund, "if you go on scratching me long."
They wrestled hard and long till everything round them shook. At last Hromund tripped him and brought him down. It had become very dark by this time.