“But who first shaped that mighty sword?” asked the stranger.
“That I neither know nor care. ’Twas a mighty useless weapon till I took it in hand, that I know,” answered Siegfried. “If thou canst not direct me on the road I seek, hold thy peace and let me pass on my way.”
“Softly, young sir! Thou dost not know with whom thou speakest.”
“I know that this path leads onwards to my lady, for thither pointed the bird before he left me. So make way and let me pass,” returned Siegfried angrily.
“The bird fled to save its life. The way it pointed thou shalt never pass, presumptuous youth.”
“Ha, ha! And who art thou to arrest my steps?” laughed Siegfried scornfully.
“I am the Guardian of yon mountain, where sleeps the maiden Brunhilda! A wall of flame encircles her, which even to approach would scorch thee to death. Begone then, rash fool, for to win thy way one step farther, thou must first overcome the mountain’s Guardian.”
Placing himself in the middle of the road, the stranger loomed above Siegfried gigantic and immovable as the rock itself.
But Siegfried remained unawed. “Begone thyself, old boaster!” he cried irreverently. “Think not to scare me with such tales. I love the fire’s blaze! So out of my way, for I haste to where Brunhilda sleeps.”
“Thou fearest not the fire?” retorted the stranger, “Then fear this my Spear, for it shall bar thy way—this Spear, which once already has shattered thy father’s sword.”