Gunther advanced, hurling insulting epithets at the champion, who ignored him, but turned to Hagen, appealing to their old friendship and to the recollections of the many hours of childhood they had spent together.  He had thought that Hagen would have been the first to welcome him, would have compelled him to accept his hospitality, and would have escorted him peacefully to his father’s kingdom.  If he would break his fealty to Gunther, said Walthar, he should depart rich, his shield full of red gold.  Irritated at such an offer, Hagen replied that he would not be deluded, and that for Walthar’s slaying of his kinsmen he must have vengeance.  So saying, he hurled his spear at Walthar, which the latter avoided.  Gunther then cast a shaft which was equally harmless.  Then, drawing their swords and covering themselves with their shields, the Franks sought to close with the Aquitainian, who kept them at bay with his spear.  As their shorter swords could not reach past Walthar’s mighty shaft, Gunther attempted to recover the spear which he had cast and which lay before the hero’s feet, and told Hagen to go in front; but as he was about to pick it up from the ground Walthar perceived his device and, placing his foot upon it, flung Gunther on his knees, and would have slain him had not Hagen, rushing to his aid, managed to cover him with his shield.

The struggle continued.  The hot sunshine came down, and the champions were bathed in sweat.  Walthar, tired of the strife, took the offensive, and springing at Hagen, with a great stroke of his spear carried away a part of his armour.  Then with a marvellous blow of his sword he smote off the king’s leg as far as the thigh.  He would have dispatched him with a second blow, but Hagen threw himself over Gunther’s body and received the sword-stroke on his own head.  So well tempered was his helm that the blade flew in flinders, shivered to the handle.

Instantly Walthar looked about him for another weapon, but quick as thought Hagen seized the opportunity and cut off his right hand, “fearful to peoples and princes.”  But, undismayed, the hero inserted the wounded stump into the shield, and drawing with his left hand a Hunnish half-sword girt to his right side, he struck at Hagen so fiercely that he bereft him of his right eye, cutting deep into the temple and lips and striking out six of his teeth.  But neither might fight more:  Gunther’s leg, Walthar’s hand, and Hagen’s eye lay on the ground.  They sat down on the heath and stanched with flowers the flowing stream of their blood.  They called to them Hildegund, who bound up their wounds and brought them wine.

Wounded as they were, they cracked many a joke over their cups, as heroes should.

“Friend,” said Hagen, “when thou huntest the stag, of whose leather mayest thou have gloves without end, I warn thee to fill thy right-hand glove with soft wool, that thou mayest deceive the game with the semblance of a hand.  But what sayest thou to break the custom of thy people in carrying thy sword at thy right side and embracing thy wife with thy left arm?”