Greatest among the giants of Jotunheim, was Hrungner. Even the gods stood in fear of him; for when Thor’s deep thunder rolled out across the skies, and the winds rose and the clouds grew black, it was Hrungner who, bold and defiant, shouted back with roars of scornful laughter—roars that rivalled in their thunder those of the great and mighty Thor.

“This giant,” said the gods, standing in council together,—“this giant must be overcome. Too long have we suffered him to defy our power; too long have we borne his insolence; too long have his threats passed unnoticed by Odin the All-Father and by Thor the god of Thunder.”

“I will go forth,” said Odin, “upon my winged horse, my fleet-footed Sleipner, to meet this giant who dares defy the gods of Asgard.”

Accordingly across the skies, over the sea to Jotunheim, rode Odin.

“It is a fine steed you ride, good stranger,” bellowed Hrungner as Odin drew near; “almost as fine a steed as my own Goldfax, who can fly through the air and swim through the seas with the same ease that another steed might travel upon the plains of Midgard.”

“But his speed cannot equal that of Sleipner,” answered Odin quietly, his deep eyes burning with the light no giant could quite comprehend, and beneath which even Hrungner quailed at heart.

“Sleipner! Odin!” thundered Hrungner. “Are you Odin? And is this your Sleipner—the winged steed of which the gods of Asgard boast? Away with him! And I upon my Goldfax will prove to you that in Jotunheim lives one giant who dares challenge even Odin and his mighty war-horse to contest. Away! Away Odin! Away Sleipner! Away Hrungner! Away Goldfax!”

And with a shout that echoed even to the halls of Asgard, the great giant mounted his steed and soon brought him, neck to neck with Odin and his immortal Sleipner.

On, on, across the skies they flew. Before their mighty force, the clouds scattered hither and thither, striking against each other with a crashing sound that to the earth-people was like the voice of Thor.

From the eyes of the steeds the lightnings flashed; and from their reeking sides the foam fell in showers upon the earth below. The people, terror-stricken, ran to their caves and prayed the gods to protect them from the fury of the blast.

“It is like no storm we ever knew,” they whispered, one to the other. “The thunder! the lightnings! the scurrying clouds! and with it all, the roaring winds and the falling of great white flakes, now like hail, now like snow! Has Odin forgotten his children? Have the Frost giants fallen upon Asgard?” But now the storm was over. Odin and Hrungner both had reached the walls of Asgard. Through the great rolling gateway both had burst together; for the steed of the bold Hrungner had indeed proved himself equal to the snow-white Sleipner, whose magic powers no one but Odin fully knew.

Hrungner, elated with his success, and never once dreaming that, had Odin so willed it, he, with his brave steed Goldfax, might have been left far behind in the race, strode into the halls of Asgard and called loudly for food and drink and rest.

All these were granted him, and the giant threw himself down upon a golden couch and stared insolently upon the gods. All were there save Thor. “And where,” bellowed Hrungner, “is the great god Thor, the mighty thunderer who dares defy the Frost giants; and whose strength is boasted greater than that of Hrungner, the chief of the mighty Frost giants?

“Bring him into my presence,” roared the giant. “Let me prove to you that one giant at least dares defy even the greatest and most warlike of you all.”

Away upon the sea, Thor heard this boast. “Who challenges me and defies my power?” he thundered; and with the swiftness of the wind, hastening upward toward the shining city, he burst in upon the giant stretched out upon the golden couch.

“I challenge you!” bellowed the giant, springing from his couch and facing the god of thunder.

Thor raised his hammer. The lightnings flashed from his eye. “Halt!” roared the giant. “Little credit will it be to the god of Thunder to fall in battle upon a Frost giant unarmed and unprotected. You are a coward! Fight me as becomes a great god on equal grounds and under fair conditions. Come to me in the land of Jotunheim, and there will I challenge you to battle. Then will your victory, if you win, lend lustre to your greatness; and the fear of you throughout the land of the Frost giants be greater than ever before.”

“As you say,” answered Thor with a sneer. “Go now, and make ready for the holmgang,1 in which the insolent, boastful Hrungner shall learn the power of the gods whom, in his ignorance, he dares defy.”

Then Hrungner departed from the city of Asgard, and assembled the giants together to prepare for the coming battle. “Let us make a giant of clay,” and at once every giant in Jotunheim fell to work. Whole mountains were leveled to the earth, and the great masses of stone and earth heaped high; until, on the third day, there stood a giant nine miles high and three miles broad, ready to defy the power of the Thunder-god when he should come. But alas for the heart of this warrior of clay! None could be found, either in Midgard or in Jotunheim, of size proportionate to the body of the mighty creation; and so, in despair, the heart of a sheep was chosen, and around it the clay warrior was built.

At the first sound of rolling thunder—by which the coming of Thor was announced afar off—alas! this heart, fluttering and trembling, so shook the mighty form that its spear fell from its hand, its knees shook, and Hrungner was left to fight his battle alone with the angry son of Odin.

Onward, nearer and nearer, came Thor the Terrible. The lightnings flashed and the earth rumbled. Seizing a great mountain of flint in his hands, Hrungner waited. His eyes burned and his face was set.

Suddenly, forth from the ground beneath his feet, the god of Thunder burst. Hrungner sprang forward. With a mighty force he hurled the mountain of flint. Thor, with a roar, flung his mighty hammer. The two crashed together in midair. The flint broke, and one half of it was driven into the heavy skull of Thor. The hammer, cleaving the flint, sped onward, and Hrungner fell dead beneath its never-failing blow; but in falling his great body lay across the neck of Thor, who, stunned by the blow from the flint, had fallen, his hammer still clenched firmly in his powerful hand.

For a moment, there was a hush. The very sun stood still. Not a sound was heard through Jotunheim. The thunder of battle had died away; all the earth was still.

Then came Magne, a son of Thor. “Why this sudden quiet?” he called. “Why has my father’s voice been stilled? Certainly the great god Thor has not fallen in battle!”

“In the name of Odin,” he thundered, as he saw the Frost giant’s body lying across his father’s massive frame,—“in the name of Odin and of Thor, what does this mean?” And, seizing the giant by a foot, he hurled him out over the seas. For miles and miles the giant’s body cut the air, and then, falling, sank and was buried beneath the waves.

Thor staggered to his feet again, and with a roar that made the leaves of Ygdrasil tremble and shook even the halls of Valhalla, set forth across the seas, never once looking back towards the land of Jotunheim, whose people for the time, at least, were again subdued by the power of Thor, the god of Thunder,—by Thor, the son of Odin the All-wise.