“That champion is Foil, son of Nectan,” said Laeg, “and there is not one in the world with whom it is more difficult to contend both in other respects and chiefly in this, that there is but one weapon wherewith he may be slain.  To all others he is invulnerable.  That weapon is an iron ball having magic properties, and no man knows where to look for it, or where the man hath hidden it away.  And O my dear master, thou goest forth to certain death going forth against that man.”

“Have no fear on that account,” said Cuculain, “for it has been revealed to me where he hides it.  It is a ges to him to wear it always on his breast above his armour, but beneath his mantle and tunic.  There it is suspended by a strong chain of brass around his neck.  With that ball I shall slay him in the manner in which I have been directed by those who visited me while I slept.”

Then they fought, and in the first close so vehement was the onset of Foil, that Cuculain could do no more than defend himself, and around the twain sparks flew up in showers as from a smithy where a blacksmith and his lusty apprentices strongly beat out the red iron.  The second was similar to the first, and equally without results.  In the third close Cuculain, having sheathed his sword, sprang upwards and dashed his shield into the giant’s face, and at the same time he tore from its place of concealment the magic ball, rending mightily the brazen chain.  And he leaped backwards, and taking a swift aim, threw.  The ball flew from the young hero’s hand like a bolt from a sling, and it struck the giant in the middle of the forehead below the rim of his helmet, but above his blazing eyes, and the ball crashed through the strong frontal bone, and tore its way through the hinder part of his head, and went forth, carrying the brains with it in its course, so that there was a free tunnel and thoroughfare for all the winds of heaven there.  With a crash and a ringing, armour and weapons, the giant fell upon the plain and his blood poured forth in a torrent there where he himself invulnerable had shed the blood of so many heroes.  Laeg rejoiced greatly at that feat, and with a loud voice bade the men of the dun bring forth their next champion.  This was Tuatha the second son of Nectan, and the fiercest of the three, he buffeted his esquires and gillas, while they armed him, so that it was a sore task for them to clasp and strap and brace his armour upon him that day, for their faces were bloody from his hands, and the floor of the armoury was strewn with their teeth.  That armour was a marvel and astonishment to all who saw it, so many thick, hard skins of wild oxen of the mountains had been stitched together to furnish forth the champion’s coat of mail.  It was strengthened, too, with countless bars and rings of brass sewed fast to it all over, and it encompassed the whole of his mighty frame, from his shoulders to his feet.  The helmet and neckpiece were one, wrought in like manner, only stronger.