Their companion was a powerful man in the dress of a soldier, and carried a sword.

In him, though he knew not the man, Sigurd recognised a soldier of the army of the king, who, as he might guess, had deserted his lawful calling for the life of a bandit.
The party was plainly unprepared to meet a knight fully armed.

They had expected rather to find some defenceless merchant, or even woodman, whom they might easily overcome and as easily rob.
They fell back an instant before the noble form of Sigurd, but the next, true to their calling, rushed upon him, shouting to him to surrender and yield up whatever of value he might possess on his person.
Sigurd wasted not a word in replying to this insolent challenge, but defended himself against the sudden assault.

At the first onslaught the two bandits were foremost, who thought to bear him down by sheer weight.
But Sigurd, stepping back a pace, caught the knife of the one on his shield, while with his own sword he ran his comrade through the body.
So quickly was it done, that the soldier, advancing wildly to the attack, stumbled and fell over the body of the prostrate man; and before he could rise again to his feet, a second thrust from Sigurd's sword had laid low the other bandit beside his comrade.
The soldier, therefore, was the only adversary that remained, and of him Sigurd thought to make short work; but in this he judged wrongly, for this robber proved to be a man of extraordinary strength and agility, while Sigurd himself was faint and jaded with his long and painful march.
For an hour that afternoon the woods resounded with the clash of swords.
The two men spoke not a word, but fought with teeth set and lips closed.

Once and again, by common consent, they halted, leaning on their swords for breath, but as often closed again more furiously than ever.