Some mighty
one has stolen the hammer of our Thor. Is it you, Thrym, greatest of all
giants--greater than Thor himself?"
This the crafty one said to flatter Thrym, for Loki well knew the
weakness of those who love to be thought greater than they are.
Then Thrym bridled and swelled with pride, and tried to put on the
majesty and awe of noble Thor; but he only succeeded in becoming an
ugly, puffy monster.
"Well, yes," he admitted. "I have the hammer that belonged to your
little Thor; and now how much of & lord is he?"
"Alack!" sighed Loki again, "weak enough he is without his magic weapon.
But you, O Thrym--surely your mightiness needs no such aid. Give me the
hammer, that Asgard may no longer be shaken by Thor's grief for his
precious toy."
But Thrym was not so easily to be flattered into parting with his stolen
treasure. He grinned a dreadful grin, several yards in width, which his
teeth barred like jagged boulders across the entrance to a mountain
cavern.
"Mioelnir the hammer is mine," he said, "and I am Thunder Lord, mightiest
of the mighty. I have hidden it where Thor can never find it, twelve
leagues below the sea caves, where Queen Ran lives with her daughters,
the white-capped Waves. But listen, Loki. Go tell the AEsir that I will
give back Thor's hammer. I will give it back upon one condition--that
they send Freia the beautiful to be my wife.
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