"Let Steinar die! Kill him! Kill him that Odin may be fed!"

"Aye," answered Leif, "Steinar shall die. See, he dies!"

Then, with a leap like to that of a hungry wolf, he sprang upon the
bound man and slew him.

I see it now. The rude temple, the glaring statue of the god, the
gathered crowd, open mouthed and eyed, the spring sunshine shining
quietly over all, and, running past the place, a ewe calling to the lamb
that it had lost; I see the dying Steinar turn his white face, and
smile a farewell to me with his fading eyes; I see Leif getting to his
horrible rites that he might learn the omen, and lastly I see the red
sword of the Wanderer appear suddenly between me and him, and in my
hand. I think that my purpose was to cut him down. Only a thought arose
within me.

This priest was not to blame. He did no more than he had been taught.
Who taught him? The god he served, through whom he gained honour and
livelihood. So the god was to blame, the god that drank the blood of
men, as a thrall drinks ale, to satisfy his filthy appetite. Could such
a monster be a god? Nay, he must be a devil, and why should free men
serve devils? At least, I would not. I would cast him off, and let him
avenge himself upon me if he could. I, Olaf, would match myself against
this god--or devil.

I strode past Leif and the altar to where the statue of Odin sat within
the temple.

"Hearken!" I said in such a voice that all lifted their eyes from the