Then Hromund flung down the sword and trusted to his strength. When Thrain saw that, he took down his cauldron which he kept above him. He was by no means pleasant to watch as he blew up his fire, ready to make a meal from the cauldron. The body of the cauldron was full, and there was a big flame beneath its feet. Thrain was wearing a gold-wrought mantle. Both his hands were crooked and his finger nails were like talons. Hromund said: "Get down off your throne, vile wretch, now that you have been robbed of all wealth." 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 Gunnlˆth. 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. Then said the ghost: "By guile you have overcome me and taken my sword. It was that that brought our struggle to this issue. I have lived in my barrow for a long time, brooding over my riches; but it is not wise to trust too much to one's treasures, however good they may seem. Never would I have thought that you, Mistletoe, my good sword, would do me a hurt." Hromund then freed himself and seized the sword, and said: "Now tell me how many men you have slain in single combat with Mistletoe." "A hundred and forty four," said the ghost, "and I never got a scratch. I tried my skill with King Seming who was in Sweden, and he was of the opinion that it would take a long time to vanquish me." Hromund said: "You have been a curse on men for a long time, and it will be a good deed to kill you at once." Then he cut off the ghost's head, and burned him to ashes on the fire; and then he went out of the barrow. They asked him on what terms he and Thrain had parted, and he replied that matters had gone according to his wishes:--"For I cut off his head."