He shews him his shield-arm, whereon were thrice fifty wounds: this is what was inflicted upon it. The shield that guarded it is what saved it. But the right arm had been played upon, as far as two thirds thereof, since the shield had not been guarding it. That arm was mangled and maimed and wounded and pierced, save that the sinews kept it to the body without separation.
‘That arm fought tonight, my son,’ says Amorgein.
‘True is that, thou old hero,’ says Conall Cernach. ‘Many there are unto whom it gave drinks of death tonight in front of the Hostel.’