The Eighth Labor: The Mares of Diomedes

52 7 4
                                    

So Heras Wrath did go to Thrace
To meet this dreadful nightmare race.
Of horse that Tyrant lord had bred
And many men had rendered dead.

So hero watches up on hill
To plan a way to horses kill.
But demi-god is shock to see
The tax that king demands as fee.

Into the homes of serfs he went
And took the old and weak and spent.
To mares his men do take there tax
With empty hearts where hate has waxed.

There using serfs as horses feed
Ignoring peasants desperate pleas.
When seeing sight his visage dims
That makes the hero look so grim.

So hero plans to come in night
When darkness hides his form from sight.
To slay the men who palace keeps
He'll storm at night when all do sleep.

Then after long the sun does fall
In deepest darkness justice calls.
Atop the walls the hero creeps
To slay the men who guard the keep.

No alarm demi-god does raise
Inside the stony palace maze.
And slowly picks the guards apart
By slaying men in hallways dark.

Then Diomedes wakes from sleep
To walk the halls of stony keep.
Their finding guard now laying dead
And Tyrants heart is filled with dread.

"Who stalks my halls!" the king does cry.
As burglar Diomedes tries to spy.
In shadows dark the hero laughs
At cruelest king with senses daft.

"I bid you show yourself you fiend
Who slayed my men with fury keen!
In granite halls of Thracian king
And death to armored men did bring!"

From shadows hero steps to face
The wretched king the lord of Thrace.
Then Diomedes saw his lion pelt
And primal fear the king now felt.

"I bid that Hera's Wrath is swift
And gives me quickest death as gift."
Then club the demi-god does raise
And sends the king on down to grave.

So after night when men where slain
He gathers forms from hall their lain.
To pieces hero carves the men
Who aided king in gravest sin.

And uses bits as bate for maresTo lead the beast to Tyrne his snare

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

And uses bits as bate for mares
To lead the beast to Tyrne his snare.
So down the road the horses go
To land of Tyrne the final goal.

Hercules and his Twelve LaborsWhere stories live. Discover now