In the days that are past a wonderful race of horses pastured in the
meadows of heaven, steeds more beautiful and more swift than any which
the world knows to-day. There was Hrîmfaxi, the black, sleek horse who
drew the chariot of Night across the sky and scattered the dew from his
foaming bit. There was Glad, behind whose flying heels sped the swift
chariot of Day. His mane was yellow with gold, and from it beamed light
which made the whole world bright. Then there were the two shining
horses of the sun, Arvakur the watchful, and Alsvith the rapid; and
the nine fierce battle-chargers of the nine Valkyries, who bore the
bodies of fallen heroes from the field of fight to the blessedness of
Valhalla. Each of the gods had his own glorious steed, with such pretty
names as Gold-mane and Silver-top, Light-foot and Precious-stone; these
galloped with their masters over clouds and through the blue air,
blowing flame from their nostrils and glinting sparks from their fiery
eyes. The Æsir would have been poor indeed without their faithful
mounts, and few would be the stories to tell in which these noble
creatures do not bear at least a part.
But best of all the horses of heaven was Sleipnir, the eight-legged
steed of Father Odin, who because he was so well supplied with sturdy
feet could gallop faster over land and sea than any horse which ever
lived. Sleipnir was snow-white and beautiful to see, and Odin was very
fond and proud of him, you may be sure. He loved to ride forth upon his
good horse's back to meet whatever adventure might be upon the way, and
sometimes they had wild times together.
One day Odin galloped off from Asgard upon Sleipnir straight towards
Jotunheim and the Land of Giants, for it was long since All-Father had
been to the cold country, and he wished to see how its mountains and
ice-rivers looked. Now as he galloped along a wild road, he met a huge
giant standing beside his giant steed.
"Who goes there?" cried the giant gruffly, blocking the way so that
Odin could not pass. "You with the golden helmet, who are you, who ride
so famously through air and water? For I have been watching you from
this mountain-top. Truly, that is a fine horse which you bestride."
"There is no finer horse in all the world," boasted Odin. "Have you not
heard of Sleipnir, the pride of Asgard? I will match him against any of
your big, clumsy giant horses."
"Ho!" roared the giant angrily, "an excellent horse he is, your little
Sleipnir. But I warrant he is no match for my Gullfaxi here. Come, let
us try a race; and at its end I shall pay you for your insult to our
horses of Jotunheim."
So saying, the giant, whose ugly name was Hrungnir, sprang upon his
horse and spurred straight at Odin in the narrow way. Odin turned and
galloped back towards Asgard with all his might; for not only must he
prove his horse's speed, but he must save himself and Sleipnir from the
anger of the giant, who was one of the fiercest and wickedest of all
his fierce and wicked race.
How the eight slender legs of Sleipnir twinkled through the blue sky!
How his nostrils quivered and shot forth fire and smoke! Like a flash
of lightning he darted across the sky, and the giant horse rumbled and
thumped along close behind like the thunder following the flash.
"Hi, hi!" yelled the giant. "After them, Gullfaxi! And when we have
overtaken the two, we will crush their bones between us!"
"Speed, speed, my Sleipnir!" shouted Odin. "Speed, good horse, or you
will never again feed in the dewy pastures of Asgard with the other
horses. Speed, speed, and bring us safe within the gates!"
Well Sleipnir understood what his master said, and well he knew the
way. Already the rainbow bridge was in sight, with Heimdal the watchman
prepared to let them in. His sharp eyes had spied them afar, and had
recognized the flash of Sleipnir's white body and of Odin's golden
helmet. Gallop and thud! The twelve hoofs were upon the bridge, the
giant horse close behind the other. At last Hrungnir knew where he was,
and into what danger he was rushing. He pulled at the reins and tried
to stop his great beast. But Gullfaxi was tearing along at too terrible
a speed. He could not stop. Heimdal threw open the gates of Asgard, and
in galloped Sleipnir with his precious burden, safe. Close upon them
bolted in Gullfaxi, bearing his giant master, puffing and purple in
the face from hard riding and anger. Cling-clang! Heimdal had shut and
barred the gates, and there was the giant prisoned in the castle of his
enemies.
Now the Æsir were courteous folk, unlike the giants, and they were not
anxious to take advantage of a single enemy thus thrown into their
power. They invited him to enter Valhalla with them, to rest and sup
before the long journey of his return. Thor was not present, so they
filled for the giant the great cups which Thor was wont to drain, for
they were nearest to the giant size. But you remember that Thor was
famous for his power to drink deep. Hrungnir's head was not so steady;
Thor's draught was too much for him. He soon lost his wits, of which he
had but few; and a witless giant is a most dreadful creature. He raged
like a madman, and threatened to pick up Valhalla like a toy house
and carry it home with him to Jotunheim. He said he would pull Asgard
to pieces and slay all the gods except Freia the fair and Sif, the
golden-haired wife of Thor, whom he would carry off like little dolls
for his toy house.
The Æsir knew not what to do, for Thor and his hammer were not there to
protect them, and Asgard seemed in danger with this enemy within its
very walls. Hrungnir called for more and more mead, which Freia alone
dared to bring and set before him. And the more he drank the fiercer
he became. At last the Æsir could bear no longer his insults and his
violence. Besides, they feared that there would be no more mead left
for their banquets if this unwelcome visitor should keep Freia pouring
out for him Thor's mighty goblets. They bade Heimdal blow his horn and
summon Thor; and this Heimdal did in a trice.
Now rumbling and thundering in his chariot of goats came Thor. He
dashed into the hall, hammer in hand, and stared in amazement at the
unwieldy guest whom he found there.
"A giant feasting in Asgard hall!" he roared. "This is a sight which
I never saw before. Who gave the insolent fellow leave to sit in my
place? And why does fair Freia wait upon him as if he were some noble
guest at a feast of the high gods? I will slay him at once!" and he
raised the hammer to keep his word.
Thor's coming had sobered the giant somewhat, for he knew that this was
no enemy to be trifled with. He looked at Thor sulkily and said: "I am
Odin's guest. He invited me to this banquet, and therefore I am under
his protection."
"You shall be sorry that you accepted the invitation," cried Thor,
balancing his hammer and looking very fierce; for Sif had sobbed in his
ear how the giant had threatened to carry her away.
Hrungnir now rose to his feet and faced Thor boldly, for the sound of
Thor's gruff voice had restored his scattered wits. "I am here alone
and without weapons," he said. "You would do ill to slay me now. It
would be little like the noble Thor, of whom we hear tales, to do such
a thing. The world will count you braver if you let me go and meet me
later in single combat, when we shall both be fairly armed."
Thor dropped the hammer to his side. "Your words are true," he said,
for he was a just and honorable fellow.
"I was foolish to leave my shield and stone club at home," went on the
giant. "If I had my arms with me, we would fight at this moment. But I
name you a coward if you slay me now, an unarmed enemy."
"Your words are just," quoth Thor again. "I have never before been
challenged by any foe. I will meet you, Hrungnir, at your Stone City,
midway between heaven and earth. And there we will fight a duel to see
which of us is the better fellow."
Hrungnir departed for Stone City in Jotunheim; and great was the
excitement of the other giants when they heard of the duel which one of
their number was to fight with Thor, the deadliest enemy of their race.
"We must be sure that Hrungnir wins the victory!" they cried. "It will
never do to have Asgard victorious in the first duel that we have
fought with her champion. We will make a second hero to aid Hrungnir."
All the giants set to work with a will. They brought great buckets of
moist clay, and heaping them up into a huge mound, moulded the mass
with their giant hands as a sculptor does his image, until they had
made a man of clay, an immense dummy, nine miles high and three miles
wide. "Now we must make him live; we must put a heart into him!" they
cried. But they could find no heart big enough until they thought of
taking that of a mare, and that fitted nicely. A mare's heart is the
most cowardly one that beats.
Hrungnir's heart was a three-cornered piece of hard stone. His head
also was of stone, and likewise the great shield which he held before
him when he stood outside of Stone City waiting for Thor to come to
the duel. Over his shoulder he carried his club, and that also was of
stone, the kind from which whetstones are made, hard and terrible. By
his side stood the huge clay man, Möckuralfi, and they were a dreadful
sight to see, these two vast bodies whom Thor must encounter.
But at the very first sight of Thor, who came thundering to the place
with swift Thialfi his servant, the timid mare's heart in the man
of clay throbbed with fear; he trembled so that his knees knocked
together, and his nine miles of height rocked unsteadily.
Thialfi ran up to Hrungnir and began to mock him, saying, "You are
careless, giant. I fear you do not know what a mighty enemy has come to
fight you. You hold your shield in front of you; but that will serve
you nothing. Thor has seen this. He has only to go down into the earth
and he can attack you conveniently from beneath your very feet."
At this terrifying news Hrungnir hastened to throw his shield upon
the ground and to stand upon it, so that he might be safe from Thor's
under-stroke. He grasped his heavy club with both hands and waited. He
had not long to wait. There came a blinding flash of lightning and a
peal of crashing thunder. Thor had cast his hammer into space. Hrungnir
raised his club with both hands and hurled it against the hammer which
he saw flying towards him. The two mighty weapons met in the air with
an earsplitting shock. Hard as was the stone of the giant's club, it
was like glass against the power of Miölnir. The club was dashed into
pieces; some fragments fell upon the earth; and these, they say, are
the rocks from which whetstones are made unto this day. They are so
hard that men use them to sharpen knives and axes and scythes. One
splinter of the hard stone struck Thor himself in the forehead, with
so fierce a blow that he fell forward upon the ground, and Thialfi
feared that he was killed. But Miölnir, not even stopped in its course
by meeting the giant's club, sped straight to Hrungnir and crushed his
stony skull, so that he fell forward over Thor, and his foot lay on the
fallen hero's neck. And that was the end of the giant whose head and
heart were of stone.
Meanwhile Thialfi the swift had fought with the man of clay, and had
found little trouble in toppling him to earth. For the mare's cowardly
heart in his great body gave him little strength to meet Thor's
faithful servant; and the trembling limbs of Möckuralfi soon yielded to
Thialfi's hearty blows. He fell like an unsteady tower of blocks, and
his brittle bulk shivered into a thousand fragments.
Thialfi ran to his master and tried to raise him. The giant's great
foot still rested upon his neck, and all Thialfi's strength could not
move it away. Swift as the wind he ran for the other Æsir, and when
they heard that great Thor, their champion, had fallen and seemed
like one dead, they came rushing to the spot in horror and confusion.
Together they all attempted to raise Hrungnir's foot from Thor's neck
that they might see whether their hero lived or no. But all their
efforts were in vain. The foot was not to be lifted by Æsir-might.
At this moment a second hero appeared upon the scene. It was Magni, the
son of Thor himself; Magni, who was but three days old, yet already
in his babyhood he was almost as big as a giant and had nearly the
strength of his father. This wonderful youngster came running to
the place where his father lay surrounded by a group of sad-faced
and despairing gods. When Magni saw what the matter was, he seized
Hrungnir's enormous foot in both his hands, heaved his broad young
shoulders, and in a moment Thor's neck was free of the weight which was
crushing it.
Best of all, it proved that Thor was not dead, only stunned by the blow
of the giant's club and by his fall. He stirred, sat up painfully, and
looked around him at the group of eager friends. "Who lifted the weight
from my neck?" he asked.
"It was I, father," answered Magni modestly. Thor clasped him in his
arms and hugged him tight, beaming with pride and gratitude.
"Truly, you are a fine child!" he cried; "one to make glad your
father's heart. Now as a reward for your first great deed you shall
have a gift from me. The swift horse of Hrungnir shall be yours,--that
same Gullfaxi who was the beginning of all this trouble. You shall ride
Gullfaxi; only a giant steed is strong enough to bear the weight of
such an infant prodigy as you, my Magni."
Now this word did not wholly please Father Odin, for he thought that
a horse so excellent ought to belong to him. He took Thor aside and
argued that but for him there would have been no duel, no horse to win.
Thor answered simply,--
"True, Father Odin, you began this trouble. But I have fought your
battle, destroyed your enemy, and suffered great pain for you. Surely,
I have won the horse fairly and may give it to whom I choose. My son,
who has saved me, deserves a horse as good as any. Yet, as you have
proved, even Gullfaxi is scarce a match for your Sleipnir. Verily,
Father Odin, you should be content with the best." Odin said no more.
Now Thor went home to his cloud-palace in Thrudvang. And there he
was healed of all his hurts except that which the splinter of stone
had made in his forehead. For the stone was imbedded so fast that it
could not be taken out, and Thor suffered sorely therefor. Sif, his
yellow-haired wife, was in despair, knowing not what to do. At last she
bethought her of the wise woman, Groa, who had skill in all manner of
herbs and witch charms. Sif sent for Groa, who lived all alone and sad
because her husband Örvandil had disappeared, she knew not whither.
Groa came to Thor and, standing beside his bed while he slept, sang
strange songs and gently waved her hands over him. Immediately the
stone in his forehead began to loosen, and Thor opened his eyes.
"The stone is loosening, the stone is coming out!" he cried. "How can I
reward you, gentle dame? Prithee, what is your name?"
"My name is Groa," answered the woman, weeping, "wife of Örvandil who
is lost."
"Now, then, I can reward you, kind Groa!" cried Thor, "for I can
bring you tidings of your husband. I met him in the cold country,
in Jotunheim, the Land of Giants, which you know I sometimes visit
for a bit of good hunting. It was by Elivâgar's icy river that I met
Örvandil, and there was no way for him to cross. So I put him in an
iron basket and myself bore him over the flood. Br-r-r! But that is a
cold land! His feet stuck out through the meshes of the basket, and
when we reached the other side one of his toes was frozen stiff. So
I broke it off and tossed it up into the sky that it might become a
star. To prove that what I relate is true, Groa, there is the new star
shining over us at this very moment. Look! From this day it shall be
known to men as Örvandil's Toe. Do not you weep any longer. After all,
the loss of a toe is a little thing; and I promise that your husband
shall soon return to you, safe and sound, but for that small token of
his wanderings in the land where visitors are not welcome."
At these joyful tidings poor Groa was so overcome that she fainted.
And that put an end to the charm which she was weaving to loosen the
stone from Thor's forehead. The stone was not yet wholly free, and
thenceforth it was in vain to attempt its removal; Thor must always
wear the splinter in his forehead. Groa could never forgive herself for
the carelessness which had thus made her skill vain to help one to whom
she had reason to be so grateful.
Now because of the bit of whetstone in Thor's forehead, folk of olden
times were very careful how they used a whetstone; and especially they
knew that they must not throw or drop one on the floor. For when they
did so, the splinter in Thor's forehead was jarred, and the good Asa
suffered great pain.