Then the fight raged hither and thither about
the wide courtyard, with trampling of feet and clash of steel and
ringing of armour and shouts of onset as the heroes closed; Oisin,
agile as a wild stag, evading the sweep of the mighty axe and rushing
in with flickering blade at every unguarded moment, his whole soul
bent on one fierce thought, to drive his point into some gap at
shoulder or neck in Fovor's coat of mail. At length, when both were
weary and wounded men, with hacked and battered armour, Oisin's blade
cut the thong of Fovor's headpiece and it fell clattering to the
ground. Another blow laid the giant prostrate, and Oisin leaned, dizzy
and panting, upon his sword, while Fovor's serving-men took off their
master in a litter, and Niam came to aid her lord. Then Oisin stripped
off his armour in the great hall, and Niam tended to his wounds,
healing them with magic herbs and murmured incantations, and they saw
that one of the seven rusty chains that had bound the princess hung
loose from its iron staple in the wall.
All night long Oisin lay in deep and healing slumber, and next day he
arose, whole and strong, and hot to renew the fray. And the giant was
likewise healed and his might and fierceness returned to him. So they
fought till they were breathless and weary, and then to it again, and
again, till in the end Oisin drove his sword to the hilt in the
giant's shoulder where it joins the collar bone, and he fell aswoon,
and was borne away as before.
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