Riddle 20: Sword

I am a wondrous creature, shaped in strife, loved by my lord, fairly adorned; my mail-coat is motley; also a bright wire lies round the gem of death which my master gave me, who sometimes in his wanderings guides me myself to the fight. Then I bear treasure through the bright day, the handiwork of smiths, gold through the dwellings. Often I slay living men with the weapons of war. The king decks me with treasure and silver, and honours me in hall, nor withholds the word of praise, voices my virtues before the people, where they drink mead. He confines me close pent; sometimes again lets me go at large, me, weary of journeying, mighty in battle. Often at the hands of his friend I have injured others fiercely; far and wide I am outlawed, accursed in my weapons. I have no cause to hope that, if any hostile man assails me in fight, a child will avenge me on the life of the slayer; nor will the family from which I sprang become magnified by my offspring, unless I, lacking a lord, can leave my possessor who gave me rings; if I obey my lord, do battle, as formerly I did, for my prince's pleasure, my destiny is decreed, that I must lack the getting of children; I can have naught to do with a bride, but he who formerly laid fetters upon me still denies me that joyous play. Wherefore I must enjoy the treasures of heroes in singleness. Often I, foolish with ornaments, anger the woman, frustrate her desire; she speaks an evil word to me, claps her hands, chides me with words, cries out an ill thing; I care not for the contest.