Without answering, Olaf took his bow into his right hand, and with his left he drew the string and speeded the arrow straight to the left eye of the flapping raven. As the Danes shouted in applause, Olaf gathered three spears in his hand. One after another he sent them into the air, and afterwards catching them and flinging them up again he kept the three spears ceaselessly going up and coming down, without ever falling to the ground. Such a feat the Danes had never witnessed, and Ulf cried out in wonder: “I cannot gainsay thee in aught. Thou must indeed be Odin with the magic spear, and yet in thy shining armor and helmet of gold thou must be the battle god, Thor. Still thou must be Njord that walks the water. For thy beauty, thou must be Balder, and for thy courage, Tyr. Thou speakest of ransom for these slaves. Take them at thy own price. I have already felt thy anger in the storms that well-nigh wrecked us. Give me but the value of their food for the three days they have been with us. Give it in gold that the scalds call the tears of Freya, and I will release to thee these slaves that we captured on the coast of Ireland.”
Olaf stood at the prow while Thore counted out the gold, and the captives, ten young men and boys, were taken aboard the “Alruna.”
