'Who of the Ulstermen holds the shield?' said Fergus.
'A man who is better than you,' said Conchobar; 'and he has brought you into exile into the dwellings of wolves and foxes, and he will repel you to-day in combat in the presence of the men of Ireland.'
Fergus aimed on him a blow of vengeance with his two hands on Conchobar, so that the point of the sword touched the ground behind him.
Cormac Condlongas put his hands upon him, and closed his two hands about his arm.
'——, O my friend, O Fergus,' said Cormac. '… Hostile is the friendship; right is your enmity; your compact has been destroyed; evil are the blows that you strike, O friend, O Fergus,' said Cormac.
'Whom shall I smite?' said Fergus.
'Smite the three hills … in some other direction over them; turn your hand; smite about you on every side, and have no consideration for them. Take thought for the honour of Ulster: what has not been lost shall not be lost, if it be not lost through you to-day (?).
'Go in some other direction, O Conchobar,' said Cormac to his father; 'this man will not put out his rage on the Ulstermen any more here.'
Fergus turned away. He slew a hundred warriors of Ulster in the first combat with the sword. He met Conall Cernach.
'Too great rage is that,' said Conall Cernach, 'on people and race, for a wanton.'