and was determined to have it at all costs, even if I had to trash the place and beat up every dwarf in sight. There was something about that sword, something special and I had learnt years ago to trust my gut feelings. It was as if it called to me. And after all, I had been dumped here in Valhalla, unceremoniously on the ground, (not my idea of going to heaven) then ignored mostly, so I felt justified in at least getting something out of it for all my troubles.

My groin ached but I had taken hits there before in battle and was able to recover quickly from such cowardly affronts. The dwarf who took the sword didnt know this and was taken completely by surprise when Mist helped me up off the floor. Keeping my pride intact, I suddenly leapt at him from behind and snatched the sword back and flew outside past an astonished Tyr who's echoing roars of laughter faded into the distance as I fled further away.

Hailing a cab at the next corner, I jumped in and said impatiently to the driver, "Take me to Glitnir, by the fastest way."