“Gudrun was wearing a tunic with a tight-fitting woven bodice, and a tall head-dress, and round her waist she had tied a fringed sash with dark blue stripes. Helgi Harbeinsson went up to her and took one end of the sash and wiped the blood off the spear with which he had run Bolli through.” […]
“The dragon was returning to its cave after quenching its thirst as Frothi’s weapons struct, but its hard prickly exterior made light of it.” […]
“Then Bjorn made a clever move, taking the knife and walking quickly over towards them. With one hand he grabbed Snorri’s cloak-sleeve when he came up to them, and with the other he grasped the knife and held it as if he were ready to plunge it into Snorri’s chest if he felt like it.” […]
“Sigurd woke up from the wound, as Guttorm was leaving by the door. Sigurd then took the sword Gram and cast it after Guttorm. It struck him in the back and cut him into two at the waist. His lower body fell one away and his head and arms fell back into the room.” […]
“She plunged the knife into my breast and ripped my whole belly open, and pulled out all my entrails and stuffed brushwood in their place. Then she went away.” […]
“He rowed up to the enemy fleet at night, bored the bottoms of their ships with an auger, and to prevent a sudden in-rush of the sea plugged the gaping holes with the pins he had provided, temporarily repairing the damage.” […]
“It grew so dark that people could not see beyond the home meadow, and they could scarcely distinguish their own hands. So much rain fell from the cloud that all the hay lying on the ground became soaked. The cloud suddenly drew past and the weather cleared up. People could then see that blood had rained down in the shower.” […]
“Sinfjotli took the horn and said: “There is poison in this drink.” Sigmund answered: “Filter it through your mustache, son.” Sigmund was quite drunk, and therefore he talked in this way. Sinfjotli drank and at once fell to the ground. Sigmund rose and his sorrow was almost his death.” […]
“Next Thrandur instructed a blazing fire be made in the fire-house, and he had four metal grates placed in a square, and Thrandur himself scored nine furrows in the earthen floor, making nine concentric circles around the square, and he sat down on a stool between the fire and the grated pen. He asked his men not to speak to him, and they stood silently by.” […]
“I have already invited him to stay overnight,” said Vigdis, “and I have no intention of going back on my word, even though he isn’t everybody’s friend.” […]
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