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.’