“Tell me, or I’ll twist the horse’s ears off your head.” “Well, the first gate is guarded by a plover only. It sits on the third pinnacle over the gate, and when anyone comes near it rises up and flies round the Castle crying until its sharp cries put the other guards on the watch.” “And what other guards are there?” “Oh, I’m tired, and I can talk no more.” The King of Ireland’s Son twisted his horse’s ears, and then the Glashan said “The second gate is guarded by five spear-men.” “And how is the third gate guarded?” “The third gate is guarded by seven swordsmen.” “And how is the fourth gate guarded?” “The fourth gate is guarded by the King of the Land of Mist himself.” “And the fifth gate?” “The fifth gate is guarded by the King of the Land of Mist himself.” “And the sixth gate?” “The sixth gate is guarded by the King of the Land of Mist.” “And how is the seventh gate guarded?” “The seventh gate is guarded by a Hag.” “By a Hag only?” “By a Hag with poisoned nails. But I’m tired now, and I’ll talk no more to you. If I could strike a light now I’d smoke a pipe.” Still they went on, and just at the screech of the day they came to the other shore of the River of the Broken Towers. The King of Ireland’s Son sprang from the shoulders of the Glashan and went into the mist. II He came to where turrets and pinnacles appeared above the mist. He climbed the rock upon which the Castle was built. He came to the first gate, and as he did the plover that was on the third pinnacle above rose up and flew round the Castle with sharp cries. He raised a fragment of the ground-rock and flung it against the gate. He burst it open. He dashed in then and through the first courtyard of the Castle. As he went towards the second gate it was flung open, and the five spear-men ran upon him. But they had not counted on what was to face them--the Sword of Light in the bands of the King of Ireland’s Son. Its stroke cut the spear heads from the spear-holds, and its quick glancing dazzled the eyes of the spear-men. On each and every one of them it inflicted the wound of death. He dashed through the second gate and into the third courtyard. But as he did the third gate was flung open and seven swordsmen came forth. They made themselves like a half circle and came towards the King of Ireland’s Son. He dazzled their eyes with a wide sweep of his sword. He darted it swiftly at each of them and on the seven swordsmen too he inflicted wounds of death. He went through the third courtyard and towards the fourth gate. As he did it opened slowly and a single champion came forth. He closed the gate behind him and stood with a long gray sword in his hand. This was the King of the Land of Mist. His shoulders were where a tall man’s head would be. His face was like a stone, and his eyes had never looked except with scorn upon a foe.