When this man entered the Sailor's Rest, Lars did not pay attention to him at first. The newcomer seemed to him like an ordinary mercenary, of which many have now been brought to this city, to this country, torn apart by civil war. But when the mercenary, having looked around the tavern with an attentive glance, found an empty seat and, taking off his cloak, sat down at the table, Lars cast an absent-minded glance at him and was stunned. Before him sat King Thrór himself. The same piercing black eyes, the same sunken cheeks, sharp, sharply defined cheekbones and the same unshakable confidence and strength were felt in him. Even the traveler’s beard was completely undignified and only revealed him more as a youth. Marie noticed her husband's condition and, following his gaze, stared questioningly at Lars. “That’s right, she’s never seen Thror!” - he thought. “This man,” said Lars, nodding at the newcomer, “is very similar to King Thror.