From his chariot Diomedes leapt to the ground, and his armour clanged as he moved. And as the great sea-billows raise their heads before the driving of the gale, and crash themselves in fury against the shore, casting afar their briny spray and foam, even as mightily did the Greeks move onward to battle. Horse after horse, and man after man, went as the waves of the sea. But like bleating sheep were the Trojans as they awaited the coming of their foes. And amongst the men of Troy fought Mars, god of war, and for the Greeks fought Athene, and with her were Terror and Rout, and Strife that never wearies. So did the armies meet. Like wolves they fought. Man lashed at man; with blood the earth grew red, and the clamour of their fighting was as the noise of the meeting of the mountain streams when they rush in furious spate into the valleys in the winter floods. Like trees that the woodmen cut and send crashing to the ground, so fell first one hero, then another. First fell a man of Troy, then a Greek. On that day many a Trojan and many a Greek side by side in the dust lay dead. Now was it that to Diomedes Athene came and gave fresh strength and courage. From his helmet she made a light to shine, burning brightly as a star in summer. Amongst the Trojans were two brothers, rich and noble, and well-skilled warriors. One of them from their chariot cast his spear at Diomedes, who was on foot, but missed his aim. And Diomedes then cast his spear and smote his enemy in the breast, so that from his chariot he fell dead on the ground, while his brother fled, lest he, too, should be slain. He left his beautiful chariot behind, and Diomedes drove away the horses and gave them to his men to keep for him. And Athene, watching the fray, took the god Mars by the hand and led him aside. ‘Let us leave the Greeks and Trojans to fight,’ said she, ‘and let Zeus give the victory to whom he will.’ Then did Mars sit him down by the river Scamander, and again Greeks and Trojans fought without aid from the gods. Like heroes they fought. Like heroes they slew and died. But none fought as did Diomedes. Like a winter torrent in full flood did he charge across the plain, driving all before him. But when Pandarus the archer saw him coming against him in triumph, he bent his bow and drove an arrow in haste to meet him. And in one moment the corslet of Diomedes was dabbled with blood. Then loudly shouted Pandarus: ‘Bestir you, brave Trojans! The best man of the Greeks is wounded, and soon shall he die from the arrow that I sped against him!’ So boasted Pandarus, but Diomedes leapt down from his chariot, and to his charioteer he spoke: ‘Haste thee, and draw from my shoulder this bitter arrow.’ Speedily the charioteer drew the arrow forth, and from the wound the blood spurted upward. Then cried Diomedes: