woke up and went down to the pasture where the red bulls were cropping grass. Without hesitation, he stepped out from behind a tree into the open space. The three bulldogs bowled down at him. He ran to meet them and slapped them to the ground. They couldn’t bite through the lion-hide gauntlets, but his legs were bleeding by the time he had tied their tails together. But tie them together he did. They ran howling in circles, trying to pull themselves apart. He strolled off, lifted a bull to his shoulders, and trotted out of the pasture.
He trotted all the way to Geryon’s tower and came walking to the great table, bearing the bull on his shoulders, just as the three cooks were coming out of the tower with their heaping trays of roast pork, roast mutton, and barbecued goat. Geryon saw a stranger coming toward him bearing one of his precious bulls. With a triple bellow, he leaped up and barged through the line of cooks, upsetting the trays of food, and charged toward Hercules, who immediately turned and fled.
Now, it has been told that Geryon was as speedy as he was powerful, that running on six legs he could outrace the fastest horse. And it was true. Nevertheless, Hercules kept ahead of him. The young man had reached his full size now; he was eight feet tall. His legs were as long as a deer’s but cabled with muscle. Even carrying a bull on his shoulders, he kept easily ahead of the scuttling Geryon, keeping always the same distance ahead, never running out of sight because he wanted the monster to keep following him. Sometimes he would lag a little, so that Geryon would think he was tiring and would keep chasing him.
Indeed, there was no chance that Geryon would stop chasing him. The three-bodied giant was running in a red mist of rage, and his rage was growing and growing, not only because his bull was being stolen, but because he had been running for two hours now. He had missed one meal and was about to miss a second, and hunger was clawing his belly.
Hercules ran him around the island twice more, then decided he’d better start his final lap. For he himself was getting tired. He was sweating. The bull was growing heavier and heavier; it was struggling and was getting very hard to hold. He tried to put on more speed, but he didn’t have enough left; the bull was too heavy. He looked behind and saw that Geryon was gaining on him. He almost stumbled, but caught himself. He knew that if he once fell within reach of those terrible hands it would be the end of him.
There was only one thing to do. He lifted the bull and let it fall, doing it carefully so that the animal landed on its legs and was able to gallop off. He knew that Geryon was so enraged that he would keep chasing him anyway. And he was right. Geryon ignored the bull and plowed on after Hercules, who, relieved of the bull’s weight, was able to regain the ground he had lost. Nevertheless, he knew he couldn’t run much longer.
He headed up the mountain path. Up, up he ran. Far ahead, he heard the bleating of the sheep and the snorting of the angry boar. He put on a burst of speed and reached the trees where the animals were tethered. He broke the chains of the boar and snapped the ropes binding goat and sheep. He slung the boar to the right, the goat to the left, and hurled the sheep straight ahead up the mountain path.
The three bodies of Geryon, coming up the road, saw their favorite food fleeing before them. These bodies were famished; they had never gone more than two hours without eating in their entire triple life, and, by now, they had missed three meals. And each one saw the meal it craved running away from him and was maddened by hunger. The left-hand body tried to swerve to the left after the goat; the right-hand body turned right after the pork; while the middle body tried to forge ahead after the bounding sheep.
Of course, trying to go in three different directions, they went nowhere. They stopped. They tried to run again. The more
He trotted all the way to Geryon’s tower and came walking to the great table, bearing the bull on his shoulders, just as the three cooks were coming out of the tower with their heaping trays of roast pork, roast mutton, and barbecued goat. Geryon saw a stranger coming toward him bearing one of his precious bulls. With a triple bellow, he leaped up and barged through the line of cooks, upsetting the trays of food, and charged toward Hercules, who immediately turned and fled.
Now, it has been told that Geryon was as speedy as he was powerful, that running on six legs he could outrace the fastest horse. And it was true. Nevertheless, Hercules kept ahead of him. The young man had reached his full size now; he was eight feet tall. His legs were as long as a deer’s but cabled with muscle. Even carrying a bull on his shoulders, he kept easily ahead of the scuttling Geryon, keeping always the same distance ahead, never running out of sight because he wanted the monster to keep following him. Sometimes he would lag a little, so that Geryon would think he was tiring and would keep chasing him.
Indeed, there was no chance that Geryon would stop chasing him. The three-bodied giant was running in a red mist of rage, and his rage was growing and growing, not only because his bull was being stolen, but because he had been running for two hours now. He had missed one meal and was about to miss a second, and hunger was clawing his belly.
Hercules ran him around the island twice more, then decided he’d better start his final lap. For he himself was getting tired. He was sweating. The bull was growing heavier and heavier; it was struggling and was getting very hard to hold. He tried to put on more speed, but he didn’t have enough left; the bull was too heavy. He looked behind and saw that Geryon was gaining on him. He almost stumbled, but caught himself. He knew that if he once fell within reach of those terrible hands it would be the end of him.
There was only one thing to do. He lifted the bull and let it fall, doing it carefully so that the animal landed on its legs and was able to gallop off. He knew that Geryon was so enraged that he would keep chasing him anyway. And he was right. Geryon ignored the bull and plowed on after Hercules, who, relieved of the bull’s weight, was able to regain the ground he had lost. Nevertheless, he knew he couldn’t run much longer.
He headed up the mountain path. Up, up he ran. Far ahead, he heard the bleating of the sheep and the snorting of the angry boar. He put on a burst of speed and reached the trees where the animals were tethered. He broke the chains of the boar and snapped the ropes binding goat and sheep. He slung the boar to the right, the goat to the left, and hurled the sheep straight ahead up the mountain path.
The three bodies of Geryon, coming up the road, saw their favorite food fleeing before them. These bodies were famished; they had never gone more than two hours without eating in their entire triple life, and, by now, they had missed three meals. And each one saw the meal it craved running away from him and was maddened by hunger. The left-hand body tried to swerve to the left after the goat; the right-hand body turned right after the pork; while the middle body tried to forge ahead after the bounding sheep.
Of course, trying to go in three different directions, they went nowhere. They stopped. They tried to run again. The more
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