When everything was in readiness for the contest, Amilias, clad in his boasted war coat, went up to the top of the hill, and sat upon a rock, and waited for Mimer’s coming.  As he sat there, he looked, to the people below, like some great castle tower; for he was a giant in size, and his coat of mail was so huge that twenty men of common mould might have found shelter, or hidden themselves, within it.  As the smith Mimer, so dwarfish in stature, tolled up the steep hillside, Amilias smiled to see him; for he felt no fear of the slender, gleaming blade that was to try the metal of his war coat.  And already a shout or expectant triumph went up from the throats of the Burgundian hosts, so sure were they of their champion’s success.

But Mimer’s friends waited in breathless silence, hoping, and yet fearing.  Only Siegfried’s father, the king, whispered to his queen, and said, “Knowledge is stronger than brute force.  The smallest dwarf who has drunk from the well of the Knowing One may safely meet the stoutest giant in battle.”

When Mimer reached the top of the hill, Amilias folded his huge arms, and smiled again; for he felt that this contest was mere play for him, and that Mimer was already as good as beaten, and his thrall.  The smith paused a moment to take breath, and as he stood by the side of his foe he looked to those below like a mere black speck close beside a steel-gray castle tower.

“Are you ready?” asked the smith.

“Ready,” answered Amilias.  “Strike!”

Mimer raised the blade in the air, and for a moment the lightning seemed to play around his head.  The muscles on his short, brawny arms, stood out like ropes; and then Balmung, descending, cleft the air from right to left.  The waiting lookers-on in the plain below thought to hear the noise of clashing steel; but they listened in vain, for no sound came to their ears, save a sharp hiss like that which red hot iron gives when plunged into a tank of cold water.  The huge Amilias sat unmoved, with his arms still folded upon his breast; but the smile had faded from his face.

“How do you feel now?” asked Mimer in a half-mocking tone.

“Rather strangely, as if cold iron had touched me,” faintly answered the giant.

“Shake thyself!” cried Mimer.

Amilias did so, and, lo! he fell in two halves; for the sword had cut sheer through the vaunted war coat, and cleft in twain the great body incased within.  Down tumbled the giant’s head and his still folded arms; and they rolled with thundering noise to the foot of the hill, and fell with a fearful splash into the deep waters of the river; and there, fathoms down, they may even now be seen, when the water is clear, lying like gray rocks among the sand and gravel below.  The rest of the body, with the armor which incased it, still sat upright in its place; and to this day travellers sailing down the river are shown on moonlit evenings the luckless armor of Amilias on the high hilltop.  In the dim, uncertain light, one easily fancies it to be the ivy-covered ruins of some old castle of feudal times.