| Transcript |
- Translated transcription: Larger than all the other, a warrior strides forth over the fallen.
He swings his broad sword like a flail. His iron helmet is far down over his forehead, taut as bands of iron lie the muscles stretched over his naked body.
It is clear that the warrior is old, hardened against wounds and death.
No one names his name, everyone knows it is Starkaðr, the hero and dastard, wizard and poet. He is the fear of the people, but the favourite of the war god. Whoever does not flee from the advance of the warrior must die; his power and wild strength knows no barrier.
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