colour of burned gold, and they are
the size of the head of a child a month old, and there is the taste of
honey on them, and they do not leave the pain of wounds or the vexation
of sickness on any one that eats them, and they do not lessen by being
eaten for ever. And the skin I asked of you," he said, "is the pig skin
of Tuis, King of Greece, and it heals all the wounds and all the
sickness of the world, and whatever danger a man may be in, if it can
but overtake the life in him, it will cure him; and it is the way it was
with that pig, every stream of water it would go through would be turned
into wine to the end of nine days after, and every wound it touched was
healed; and it is what the Druids of Greece said, that it is not in
itself this virtue was, but in the skin, and they skinned it, and the
skin is there ever since. And I think, too, it will not be easy for you
to get it, with or without leave."

"And do you know what is the spear I am asking of you?" he said. "We do
not," said they. "It is a very deadly spear belonging to the King of
Persia, the Luin it is called, and every choice thing is done by it, and
its head is kept steeped in a vessel of water, the way it will not burn
down the place where it is, and it will be hard to get it. And do you
know what two horses and what chariot I am asking of you? They are the
chariot and the two wonderful horses of Dobar, King of Siogair, and the
sea is the same as land to them, and there are no faster horses than
themselves, and there is no chariot equal to that one in shape and in
strength.

"And do you know what are the seven pigs I asked of you? They are the
pigs of Easal, King of the Golden Pillars; and though they are killed
every night, they are found alive again the next day, and there will be
no disease or no sickness on any person that will eat a share of them.

"And the whelp I asked of you is Fail-Inis, the whelp belonging to the
King of Ioruaidh, the Cold Country. And all the wild beasts of the world
would fall down at the sight of her, and she is more beautiful than the
sun in his fiery wheels, and it will be hard to get her.

"And the cooking-spit I asked of you is a spit of the spits of the women
of Inis Cenn-fhinne, the Island of Caer of the Fair Hair. And the three
shouts you are to give on a hill must be given on the Hill of Miochaoin
in the north of Lochlann. And Miochaoin and his sons are under bonds not
to allow any shouts to be given on that hi