LEGENDS of THOR - 17 Legends and Adventures of Thor, god of thunder E-Book

Various

• Herausgeber: Abela Publishing
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

THOR is the Asgardian god of thunder from Norse Mythology, who possesses the enchanted hammer, Mjolnir, which grants him the ability to fly and manipulate weather amongst his other superhuman attributes.

Herein are 17 Legends of Thor brought together in one place, from various sources, for the first time.
The 17 Legends in this volume are:
Loke’s Theft
Thor’s Hammer
The Theft  Of The Hammer
The Finding  Of The Hammer
The Fenris Wolf
Defeat Of Hrungner
Thor And Skrymer
Thor And The  Utgard-King
Thor  And The  Midgard Serpent
The Punishment Of Loke
When Thor  Went To Jotunheim
How Thor Went Fishing
How Thor’s Pride Was Brought Low  Part I
How Thor’s Pride  Was Brought Low  Part II
How Thor Fought The Giant Hrungner
Thor's Visit  To The Giants
Thor's Duel

These are the legends which the Marvel company have used to create the Avengers stories in which Thor features so prominently.

10% of the profits from the sale of this book will be donated to Charities.
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KEYWORDS/TAGS: #Legends_of_Thor, #god_of_thunder, #Asgard, #Bifrost, #odin, #allfather, #Mjolnir, #ability_to_fly, #manipulate_weather, #superhuman_attributes, #loke_theft, #thors_hammer, #theft _of_Thors_hammer, #finding_Thors_hammer, #fenris_wolf, #defeat, #hrungner, #skrymer, #utgard_king, #midgard_serpent, #punishment_of_loke, #jotunheim, #thor_went_fishing, #thors_pride, #giant_hrungner, #visit_to_giants, #thors_duel

Leseprobe

Legends of Thor

17 Legends, Adventures and Journeys of Thor

Compiled by John HalstedFrom Various Sources

Published ByAbela Publishing, London

[2020]

Legends of Thor

Typographical arrangement of this edition

© Abela Publishing 2020

This book may not be reproduced in its current format in any manner in any media, or transmitted by any means whatsoever, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, or mechanical ( including photocopy, file or video recording, internet web sites, blogs, wikis, or any other information storage and retrieval system) except as permitted by law without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Abela Publishing,

London

United Kingdom

2020

ISBN-13: 978-8-XXXXXX-XX-X

email

[email protected]

website

http://bit.ly/2HekG4n

LEGENDS of THOR

"To my hammer's swing”Arthur Rackham, 1910

Contents

Loke’s Theft

Thor’s Hammer

The Theft Of The Hammer

The Finding Of The Hammer

The Fenris Wolf

Defeat Of Hrungner

Thor And Skrymer

Thor And The Utgard-King

Thor And The Midgard Serpent

The Punishment Of Loke

When Thor Went To Jotunheim

How Thor Went Fishing

How Thor’s Pride Was Brought Low Part I

How Thor’s Pride Was Brought Low Part Ii

How Thor Fought The Giant Hrungner

Thor's Visit To The Giants

Thor's Duel

Vocabulary

Loke’s Theft

Thor was the son of Odin. He was a brave young god; and when the frost giants came sweeping down upon the shining city, none were more brave to fight for the protection of Asgard, the beautiful home of the gods, than Thor, the son of Odin.

There was another son, Loke. A cruel, wicked, idle, evil-hearted god was he, the sorrow of his father Odin, the grief of his mother Frigg, and the terror of all the gods and goddesses.

Over this son the great Odin wept often bitter tears. More bitter still since he had drunk from the Well of Wisdom; for since then knowing, as he did, all things past and future, he knew that a day was yet to come, when, because of this wicked Loke, the light would go out from the earth; damp and cold and darkness would fall upon the shining city; the frost giants would overcome the gods; and there would come an end to all life. Nor was there any escape nor hope for any help. This fate, the Norns had decreed should be; and through the evil-hearted Loke it was to come.

In the golden hall of the gods dwelt Thor; and with him, his beautiful wife, Sif. Of all the goddesses there was none like her. Her eyes were of heaven’s own blue; and the light in them was borrowed from the stars. Her hair was of yellow, yellow gold; and as it lay massed above her pure white brow, it vied with the golden light of harvest time in softness and rich, deep color.

One happy peaceful day, when there was no danger abroad, and rest and peace had spread themselves above the halls of the city of Asgard, Sif lay sleeping. The Sungod’s covering of soft warm rays fell upon her, and the leaves of Ygdrasil had spread themselves above her in tender, loving protection.

Loke, the idle one, angry and revengeful, as he always was, when happiness and rest and peace had driven out sorrow and care, paced angrily up and down the golden streets, his deep black frowns darkening even the clear, white light of heaven.

He came upon the beautiful sleeping wife of Thor.

“I hate my brother,” he hissed through his cruel teeth. “And how proud he is of this golden hair of Sif’s.”

The wicked light flashed from his deep black eyes. Softly, like a thief, he crept towards the sleeping Sif. He seized the golden hair in his hand. A cruel smile shone over his evil face. “Boast now of your beauty, O Sif,” he sneered. “Boast now of your Sif’s golden hair, O Thor,” he growled. And with one great sweep of his shining knife, he cut from the beautiful head the whole mass of gold.

It was late when Sif awoke. The leaves of Ygdrasil were moaning for the cruel deed. The Sun was sinking sorrowfully below the distant mountain peaks.

“O my gold! my gold!” sobbed Sif. “O who has stolen from me in my sleep my gold? O Thor, Thor! You were so proud of the gold. It was for you I prized it,—my beautiful, beautiful gold!”

At that second the voice of Thor was heard. His heavy call echoed across the skies and pealed from cloud to cloud. He was angry; for he had heard Sif’s bitter cry and felt some harm had come to her.

“It is Loke that has done this,” he thundered; and again his voice rolled from cloud to cloud. The very mountain peaks across the sea in the country of the Frost giants rocked and reeled. The waters foamed and tossed; the scorching lightnings flashed from his eyes; the whole sky was as one great sheet of fire.

The earth-children trembled as they had never trembled before. Even Loke, shivering with fear, cowered behind the golden pillars of the great arched gateway.

“Forgive me, forgive me!” wailed he, as Thor flashed his great white light upon him.

“Out from your hiding place, O coward! Out! Out, or my thunderbolts shall strike you dead.”

“Spare me, spare me!” groaned Loke. “Only spare me, and I will go down into the earth where the dwarfs do dwell—”

“Go!” thundered Thor, not waiting for the wretched god to finish. “Go, and bring back to me a crown of golden threads, woven and spun in the smithies of the dwarfs, that shall be as beautiful, and ten thousand times more beautiful, than the golden crown you have stolen from the head of Sif. Go to them, tell them what you have done, and never again enter the shining gateway of the city of our Father Odin until you bring the crown.”

Loke slunk away, the thunders of the wrath of Thor slowly, slowly following him. The lightnings flashed dully across the skies. The low rumbling of thunder, distant but threatening, warned Loke that the wrath of Thor was not appeased, neither would it be, nor would there be any return to Asgard for the evil doer, until the crown of gold was won.

Dwarfs Forging Crown For Loke.

Thor’s Hammer

It was away down in the underground caves, and beneath the roaring waters of the rivers, and deep in the hearts of the mountains that these dwarf workmen dwelt, and worked their smithies, and spun their gold and brass.

“Make me a crown of gold for Sif the wife of Thor,” snarled Loke, bursting in upon the workshop of the dwarfs.

The dwarfs were ugly little creatures, with crooked legs, and crooked backs. Their eyes were black, wicked little beads of eyes, and their hearts were malicious and sometimes cruel. But they were the willing and ready slaves of the gods; and so, at even this ill-natured command from Loke, they set themselves to work.

The coals burned and blazed; the forges puffed and blew; the little workmen moulded and turned and spun their gold. Hardly had the Sun-god lifted his head above the castles of the frost giants, hardly had his light fallen upon the rich colors of the rainbow bridge, when Loke came forth from the underground caves, the shining crown in his hand.

Quickly he rose high in the air and stood before the gates of the city.

“Have you brought the crown?” thundered Thor from within the gates.

“I have brought the crown,” answered Loke in triumph. “And more than that,” added he, when the gates had been opened to him, “I have brought as gifts from the dwarfs, a ship that will sail on land or sea and a spear that never fails. O there are no such workmen among any dwarfs as these who made the spear, the ship and the crown.”

“You boast of what you do not know,” croaked Brok, a little dwarf who stood nearby.

“Who says I do not know?” cried Loke, turning sharply.

“I say you do not know,” croaked the little dwarf again, his beadlike eyes snapping angrily, his whole crooked frame quivering with rage. “I have a brother, a workman in brass and gold, who can make gifts more pleasing to the gods than any you have brought.”

Loke looked down upon the little dwarf in scorn. “Go to your brother,” he sneered, “and bring to us the wonderful things you think he can make. Bring us one gift more wonderful than these I have, or more acceptable to Odin and Thor, and I will give your brother my head to pay him for his efforts.” Then Loke roared with laughter, believing that he had made a rare, rich joke.

Hardly had the roars of laughter died away, when Brok, gliding down the rainbow bridge with a swiftness equalled only by the lightning, sprang into Midgard, and was making his way towards the great mountain, beneath which worked the forges of his brother, the master-workman—Sindre.

“Someone cometh,” said the dwarfs, pausing in their work to listen, their busy hammers in mid-air.

“Fear not,” answered Brok, his harsh voice echoing down the great halls. “It is I—Brok—and I come to demand of you that now, if never again, you do your best; for Loke boasts to the gods of Asgard that no dwarfs in all the caverns of the under-world can make one gift more wonderful or more acceptable to Odin than those he brings—a crown of gold, a ship that will sail on land or sea, and a spear that never fails!”

A terrible roar burst forth from the hosts of angry dwarfs. “We will see! We will see!” they thundered. And seizing their hammers they set to work. The great forges blazed. The sparks flew. The smoke poured forth from the mountain top. Loke, looking out from the shining city, trembled. Well did he know the workmanship of these dwarfs of Brok; and well did he know how rash had been his scornful promise to the angry little dwarf.

“We will make a hammer for Thor,” said Sindre, the greatest among the workmen in this under world; “a hammer, that when thrown from his mighty hand, shall ring through all the heavens. A trail of fire shall follow it. Its aim shall never fail; and it shall carry death and destruction wherever it falls.

“Blow thou the bellows, Brok; and I myself will mould the hammer from the red hot iron.”

With Brok at the bellows, the very mountain rocked, and Midgard for miles about was ablaze with the blaze of light from the mountain top.

“This shall not be,” snarled Loke. And rushing down from Asgard he crouched outside the great, black cave to listen.

“A hammer for Thor!” Those were the words he heard. The ugly face grew uglier. An instant, and there was no Loke at the cavern mouth; but instead, a poisonous, stinging gadfly, whose green back glistened, and whose shining wings buzzed and hummed with cruelty and revenge. There was a hard, ringing tone of defiance in their singing, and the tone was like that of the voice of Loke himself.

“You shall drop the bellows,” buzzed the gadfly bitterly, as it alighted upon the neck of Brok.

It was a cruel sting; and its poison forced, even from the sturdy Brok, a cry of pain.

“I know you. It is Loke,” he cried; “but I will not drop the bellows though you sting me through and through and with a thousand stings!”

The gadfly buzzed with rage. Straight towards the hand upon the bellows it darted. Brok groaned again. His face grew pale; he quivered with the pain; still he held the mighty bellows and worked the roaring forge.

“You will not!” hissed the gadfly; and again it drove its poison sting, this time straight between the eyes of the suffering dwarf. And now Brok staggered. His hands relaxed their hold. Blinded with pain, he dropped the bellows. The blood ran down his face. The gadfly still hummed and buzzed.

“You have nearly spoiled it,” cried Sindre. “Why did you drop the bellows? See how short the handle is! And how rough! But it cannot be helped now; nor will its terror be any less to Loke. Ha, ha, I would have made it handsome; but there is a power in it that shall make even the gods tremble in all the ages to come. Hurry away with it, and place it in Thor’s mighty hands. And here are other gifts. Take them all, and bring me Loke’s head. He has promised. Surely even he must keep his word, wicked and deceitful though he is.”

Brok seized the hammer, and, with the gifts, hurried up through the dark cavern, out into the light of Midgard, up the rainbow bridge, and, with triumph in his swarthy face, sprang into the presence of the great god Odin.

Loke roared with laughter at the sight of the awkward, clumsy hammer; but there was a proud, confident look in the dwarf’s shining eyes that Loke did not like; and, coward that he was, his heart began already to fail him.

“Let us see the gifts,” said Odin, “that we may judge which workman among the dwarfs has proved himself most wonderful.”

“First of all,” said Loke, coming forward, “Here is the golden crown for Sif.”

Eagerly Thor seized the crown, and placed it upon poor Sif’s head.

“Wonderful! wonderful!” cried all the gods, for straightway the golden hair began to grow to Sif’s head, and in a second it was as if her golden locks had never been stolen from her.

“To you, O Odin,” said the dwarf, now coming forward, “I give this ring of gold. It is a magic ring; and each night it will cast off from itself another ring, as pure and as heavy, as round and as large as itself.”

“What is that,” sneered Loke, “compared with this? See, O Father Odin, I bring you a magic spear. Accept this, my second gift. It is a magic spear that never fails.”

“But behold my second gift,” interrupted Brok. “It is a boar of wonderful strength. It, too, is magic. No horse can run, no bird can fly with such speed. It travels both on land and sea; and in the night its bristles shine with such a light, that it matters not how dense the blackness, the forest or the plain will be as bright as noonday.”

“I, too, have a gift that will travel on land or sea,” cried Loke, pushing himself forward again. “See, it is a ship. And not only will it travel on land or sea, but it can lift itself and sail like a bird above the clouds and through the air.”

“It will be hard indeed to say which gift is greatest,” said Odin kindly.

“Look now, O, Odin, and Frigg and Thor and Sif and all the gods, at this the last of my three gifts. This hammer, O Thor, I bring to you, the god of thunder. Strike with it, and your thunders shall echo and re-echo from cloud to cloud as never they were heard before. Thrown into the air or at a foe, like Loke’s spear, it shall never miss its aim; but, more than that, it shall return always to the hand of Thor. No foe can conceal it, no foe can destroy it. It will never fail thee, O Thor, thou god of thunder.”

“But what a clumsy handle,” sneered Loke, who already began to fear the hammer was to win the favor of the gods.

“Yes,” answered Brok, “the handle is clumsy and it is short. But none knows better than you why it is so.”

Loke colored and moved uneasily. “Do not think,” continued Brok, “that I do not know it was you who sent the poisonous gadfly to sting and bite me as I worked at the blazing forge, pounding out the brass and gold from which this hammer is made.

“You thought to pain me into giving up this contest, you coward! you evil one! you boaster!

“When the handle was welded just so far, you drove the gadfly into my eye. I could not see to finish the work; but although the handle is short and clumsy, the magic power is there, and with it in his hand, no power in earth or among the frost giants even can overcome our great god Thor.”

A ringing shout of joy arose from the gods. Thor swung his hammer over his head and threw it far out against the clouds. The thunder rolled, the clouds filled with blackness, and the lightnings flashed, as the magic hammer, humming through the air, came back to the hands of Thor.

“Now give me my wager,” cried Brok. “I was promised the head of Loke.”

“Take it,” laughed Loke. “Take it.”

Brok drew near. “I will take it,” he hissed through his set teeth; “and a rich day will it be both in Midgard and in Asgard when your miserable head is bound down in the home of the dwarfs of the underground world.”

“But halt,” commanded Loke. “My head you may have; but you must not touch my neck. One drop of blood from that, and you forfeit your life.”

Brok stood for a moment white with anger. He knew that he was foiled. Then springing forward, he thundered, “I may not touch your neck; but see, I have my revenge.” And so, falling upon Loke, who struggled, but struggled in vain, he whipped from his mantle a thong and thread of brass; and before even Loke knew what had been done, he had sewed, firm together, the lying boasting lips of the evil god, Loke, the wicked-hearted son of Odin.

Thor