hy heart thou art no son of mine, nor of the race of Periclymenus,
who stood up in battle even against the strong man Heracles!"

But Memnon was too strong for Thrasymedes, and drove him off, while old
Nestor himself charged sword in hand, though Memnon bade him begone, for
he was not minded to strike so aged a man, and Nestor drew back, for he
was weak with age. Then Memnon and his army charged the Greeks, slaying
and stripping the dead. But Nestor had mounted his chariot and driven to
Achilles, weeping, and imploring him to come swiftly and save the body of
Antilochus, and he sped to meet Memnon, who lifted a great stone, the
landmark of a field, and drove it against the shield of the son of
Peleus. But Achilles was not shaken by the blow; he ran forward, and
wounded Memnon over the rim of his shield. Yet wounded as he was Memnon
fought on and struck his spear through the arm of Achilles, for the
Greeks fought with no sleeves of bronze to protect their arms.

Then Achilles drew his great sword, and flew on Memnon, and with sword-
strokes they lashed at each other on shield and helmet, and the long
horsehair crests of the helmets were shorn off, and flew down the wind,
and their shields rang terribly beneath the sword strokes. They thrust
at each others' throats between shield and visor of the helmet, they
smote at knee, and thrust at breast, and the armour rang about their
bodies, and the dust from beneath their feet rose up in a cloud around
them, like mist round the falls of a great river in flood. So they
fought, neither of them yielding a step, till Achilles made so rapid a
thrust that Memnon could not parry it, and the bronze sword passed clean
through his body beneath the breast-bone, and he fell, and his armour
clashed as he fell.

Then Achilles, wounded as he was and weak from loss of blood, did not
stay to strip the golden armour of Memnon, but shouted his warcry, and
pressed on, for he hoped to enter the gate of Troy with the fleeing
Trojans, and all the Greeks followed after him. So they pursued, slaying
as they went, and the Scaean gate was choked with the crowd of men,
pursuing and pursued. In that hour would the Greeks have entered Troy,
and burned the city, and taken the women captive, but Paris stood on the
tower above the gate, and in his mind was anger for the death of his
brother Hector. He tried the string of his bow, and found it frayed, for
all day he had showered his arrows on the Gree