The dun was white-walled, with colored thatching on the roof. The men entered it to seek hospitality and found no one there -- only a great, empty hall with pillars of cedar-wood and silken hangings like the hall of a wealthy lord. There was a table set with a sumptuous feast of boar's flesh and venison, red wine, and cups of gold and silver. So they sat down and ate and drank gaily until one of them jumped up to his feet with a cry of fear. The others looked around and saw before their eyes the tapestried walls changing to rough wooden beams and the ceiling to a foul, sooty thatch like that of a herdsman's hut. So they knew they were being entrapped by some enchantment of the Sidhe (the fairy folk).

Everyone sprang to their feet and ran to the door, which was no longer high and stately, but was shrinking to the size of a fox warren. However, Conan the Banld remained; gluttonously devouring the good things on the table, and heeded nothing else. His colleagues shouted to him as the last of them went out. When Conan strove to rise and follow, he found himself limed to the chair so that he could not stir. Two of the Fianna, seeing his plight, rushed back and seized his arms and tugged with all their might. As the men dragged him away they left part of his clothing and his skin sticking to the chair. Then, not knowing what else to do with him in his sore plight, they clapped upon his back the nearest thing they could find, which was the skin of a black sheep that they took from a peasants's flock nearby. The skin grew there and Conan wore it till his death.