distrustful and slow to believe, but truthful.
Now men ride to the horsefight, and a very great crowd is
gathered together there. Gunnar was there and his brothers, and
the sons of Sigfus. Njal and all his sons. There too was come
Starkad and his sons, and Egil and his sons, and they said to
Gunnar that now they would lead the horses together.
Gunnar said, “That was well.”
Skarphedinn said, “Wilt thou that I drive thy horse, kinsman
Gunnar?”
“I will not have that,” says Gunnar.
“It wouldn’t be amiss though,” says Skarphedinn; “we are hot-headed on both sides.”
“Ye would say or do little,” says Gunnar, “before a quarrel would
spring up; but with me it will take longer, though it will be all
the same in the end.”
After that the horses were led together; Gunnar busked him to
drive his horse, but Skarphedinn led him out. Gunnar was in a
red kirtle, and had about his loins a broad belt, and a great
riding-rod in his hand.
Then the horses ran at one another, and bit each other long, so
that there was no need for any one to touch them, and that was
the greatest sport.
Then Thorgeir and Kol made up their minds that they would push
their horse forward just as the horses rushed together, and see
if Gunnar would fall before him.
Now the horses ran at one another again, and both Thorgeir and
Kol ran alongside their horses’ flank.
Gunnar pushes his horse against them, and what happened in a
trice was this, that Thorgeir and his brother fall down flat on
their backs, and their horse a-top of them.
Then they spring up and rush at Gunnar. Gunnar swings himself
free and seizes Kol, casts him down on the field, so that he lies
senseless. Thorgeir Starkad’s son smote Gunnar’s horse such a
blow that one of his eyes started out. Gunnar smote Thorgeir
with his riding-rod, and down falls Thorgeir senseless; but
Gunnar goes to his horse, and said to Kolskegg, “Cut off the
horse’s head; he shall not live a maimed and blemished beast.”
So Kolskegg cut the head off the horse.
Then Thorgeir got on his feet and took his weapons, and wanted to
fly at Gunnar, but that was stopped, and there was a great throng
and crush.
Skarphedinn said, “This crowd wearies me, and it is far more
manly that men should fight it out with weapons; and so he sang a
song:
“At the Thing there is a throng;
Past all bounds the crowding comes;
Hard ‘twill be to patch up peace
‘Twixt the men. This wearies me;
Worthier is it far for men
Weapons red with gore to stain;
I for one would sooner tame
