Thou wouldst deem that the nine
of them had one mother and one father. They are of the same age, equally
goodly, equally beautiful, all alike. Thin rods of gold in their
mantles. Bent shields of bronze they bear. Ribbed javelins above them.
An ivory-hilted sword in the hand of each. An unique feat they have, to
wit, each of them takes his sword's point between his two fingers, and
they twirl the swords round their fingers, and the swords afterwards
extend themselves by themselves. Liken thou _that_, O Fer rogain,"
says Ingcel.
"Easy," says Fer rogain, "for me to liken them. It is Conchobar's son,
Cormac Condlongas, the best hero behind a shield in the land of Erin. Of
modest mind is that boy! Evil is what he dreads tonight. He is a
champion of valour for feats of arms; he is an hospitaller for
householding. These are yon nine who surround him, the three Dungusses,
and the three Doelgusses, and the three Dangusses, the nine comrades of
Cormac Condlongas, son of Conchobar. They have never slain men on
account of their misery, and they never spared them on account of their
prosperity.
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