“Go to him,” said the king, “and ask how many men does he want for the combat.” The guard went out and asked.
“I want seven hundred at my right hand, seven hundred at my left, seven hundred behind me, and as many as all these out in front of me. Let them come four deep through the gates: do you take no part in this battle; if I am victorious, I will see you rewarded.”
The guard told the king how many men the champion demanded. Before the king opened the gates for his men, he said to the chief of them, “This youth must be mad, or a very great champion. Before I let my men out, I must see him.”
The king walked out to young Conal, and saluted him. Conal returned the salute. “Are you the champion who ordered out all these men of mine?” asked the king.
“I am,” said young Conal.
“There is not one among them who would not kill a dozen like you,” said the king. “Your bones are soft and young. It is better for you to go out as you came in.”
“You need not mind what will happen me,” answered Conal. “Let out the men; the more the men, the quicker the work. If one man would kill me in a short time, many will do it in less time.”
The men were let out, and Conal went through them as a hawk goes through a flock of birds; and when one man fell before him, he knocked the next man, and had his head off. At sunset every head was cut from its body. Next he made a heap of the bodies, a heap of the heads, and a heap of the weapons. Young Conal then stretched himself on the grass, cut and bruised, his clothes in small pieces from the blows that had struck him.
“It is a hard thing,” said Conal, “for me to have fought such a battle, and to lie here dying without one glimpse of the woman I love; could I see her even once, I would be satisfied.”
Crawling on his hands and knees, he dragged himself to the window to tell her it was for her he was dying. The princess saw him, and told him to lie there till she could draw him up to her and care for him.