The Complete Compleat Enchanter by Fletcher Pratt, L. Sprague deCamp

live Than to lie a corpse;
    The quick man catches the cart.’ ”

    Thor, at the front of the chariot, said something to the goats. They broke from a trot to a gallop. Shea, clutching the side of the vehicle, became aware that it had no springs. He found he could take the jolting best by flexing his legs and yielding to the jerks.
    Loki leaned toward him, grinning. “Hai, Turnip Harold! Let us be merry!” Shea smiled uncertainly. Manner and voice were friendly, but might conceal some new malicious trick. Uncle Fox continued airily: “Be merry while you can. These hill giants are uncertain of humor where we go. He, he, I remember a warlock named Birger. He put a spell on one of the hill giants so he married a goat instead of a girl. The giant cut Birger open, tied one end of his entrails to a tree, and chased him around it. He, he!”
    The anecdote was not appetizing and the chariot was bounding on at the same furious pace, throwing its passengers into the air every time it hit a bump. Up—down—bang—up—down—bang. Shea began to regret his breakfast.
    Thjalfi said: “Ye look poorly, friend Harold; sort of goose-green. Shall I get something to eat?”
    Shea had been fighting his stomach in desperate dread of losing further prestige. But the word “eat” ended the battle. He leaned far over the side of the chariot.
    Loki laughed. Thor turned at the sound, and drowned Loki’s laughter in a roar of his own. “Haw, haw, haw! If you foul up my chariot, Turnip Harold, I’ll make you clean it!” There was a kind of good-natured contempt in the tone, more galling than Uncle Fox’s amusement.
    Shea’s stomach finally ceased its convulsions and he sat down on the chest, wishing he were dead. Perhaps it was the discomfort of the seat, but he soon stood up again, forcing himself to grin. “I’ll be all right now. I’m just not used to such a pace.”
    Thor turned his head again and rumbled: “You think this fast, springling? You have in no wise any experience of speed. Watch.” He whistled to the goats, who stretched their heads forward and really opened out. The chariot seemed to spend most of the time in the air; at intervals, it would hit a ridge in the road with a thunderous bang and then take off again. Shea clung for dear life to the side, estimating their speed at something between sixty and seventy miles an hour. This is not much in a modern automobile on a concrete road, but something quite different in a two-wheeled springless cart on a rutted track.
    “Wow! Wow! Wow!” yelled Thor, carried away by his own enjoyment. “Hang on; here’s a curve!” Instead of slackening speed the goats fairly leaped, banking inward on the turn. The chariot lurched in the opposite direction. Shea clung with eyes closed and one arm over the side. “Yoooeee!” bellowed Thor.
    It went on for ten minutes more before Thjalfi suggested lunch. Shea found himself actually hungry again. But his appetite quailed at the sight of some slabs that looked like scorched leather.
    “Ulp— what’s that?”
    “Smoked salmon,” said Thjalfi. “Ye put one end in your mouth, like this. Then ye bite. Then ye swallow. Ye have sense enough to swallow, I suppose?”
    Shea tried it. He was amazed that any fish could be so tough. But as he gnawed he became aware of a delicious flavor. When I get back, he thought, I must look up some of this stuff. Rather, if I get back.
    The temperature rose during the afternoon, and toward evening the wheels were throwing out fans of slush. Thor roared, “Whoa!” and the goats stopped. They were in a hollow between low hills, gray save where the snow had melted to show dark patches of grass. In the hollow itself a few discouraged-looking spruces showed black in the twilight.
    “Here we camp,” said Thor. “Goat steak would be our feasting had we but fire.”
    “What does he mean?” Shea whispered to Thjalfi.
    “It’s one of the Thunderer’s magic tricks. He slaughters Tooth Gnasher or Tooth