It surprised Sigurd to find an adversary so resolute and dextrous.

At another time it might have pleased him, for he loved courage even in an adversary; but now, when every hour lost meant peril to Ulf, his bosom swelled with wrath and disappointment.

By force of superior weight he drove his adversary back inch by inch, till at the end of an hour the two stood some yards distant from the spot where the fight began.
Yet, though falling back, the soldier kept a bold guard, and while not inflicting any wound on his enemy, was able to ward off all blows aimed at himself.
At length, when for a moment Sigurd seemed to flag in the combat, the man gathered himself together for one mighty stroke at the hero's head.
It fell like a thunderbolt but Sigurd saw it in time and caught it on his uplifted sword, and with such force that the soldier's weapon broke in two, and he himself, overbalanced by the shock, fell backwards to the ground.
Then Sigurd, with a glance of triumph, planted his foot on the body of his prostrate foe, and prepared to avenge the delay of that hour's combat.
The man neither struggled nor called for mercy, but looked boldly up in his victor's face and awaited death with a smile.
The sword of Sigurd did not descend.

Some passing memory, perchance, or some soft voice breathing mercy, held it back.

He drew back his foot, and sheathing his weapon, said-- "Keep thy life, and return and serve the king thy master." The man lay for a moment as one bewildered, then springing to his feet, and casting from him his broken sword, he knelt and cried-- "Oh, merciful knight, to thee I owe my life, and it is thee I will serve to the world's end!" "Peace!" said Sigurd, sternly; "this is no time for parley.