So they all turned and fled from the field.
"Let us follow them up now," says Kolskegg, "and take thou thy bow and arrows, and thou wilt come within bow-shot of Thorgeir Starkad's son."
Then Gunnar sang a song.
Reaver of rich river-treasure,
Plundered will our purses be,
Though to-day we wound no other
Warriors wight in play of spears;
Aye, if I for all these sailors
Lowly lying, fines must pay—
This is why I hold my hand,
Hearken, brother dear, to me.
"Our purses will be emptied," says Gunnar, "by the time that these are atoned for who now lie here dead."
"Thou wilt never lack money," says Kolskegg; "but Thorgier will never leave off before he compasses thy death."
Gunnar sung another song.
Lord of water-skates[26] that skim
Sea-king's fields, more good as he,
Shedding wounds' red stream, must stand
In my way ere I shall wince.
I, the golden armlets' warder,
Snakelike twined around my wrist,
Ne'er shall shun a foeman's faulchion
Flashing bright in din of fight.
"He, and a few more as good as he," says Gunnar, "must stand in my path ere I am afraid of them."
After that they ride home and tell the tidings.