Seeing him coming thus, Achilles cried: “Ah! there is he who killed my friend! Come, Hector, come, that thou mayest meet thy doom!” He had scarcely spoken when Hector stood before him and answered unabashed: “Do not hope to intimidate me with words, O Achilles! Even if thou art stronger than I, it rests with the gods to decide whether I shall not rob thee of thy life.” He threw the lance with all his might, but it glanced off Achilles’ hard-polished shield. He turned about, frightened, and fled like the wind before the hero’s hissing spear. “Ah! truly Phœbus must be with thee,” cried Achilles. “Destruction was hard upon thee and thou hast escaped. But the next time I meet thee I shall send thee down to Hades.” He glanced about angrily for other adversaries. See, now his chariot pursues a band of Trojans who prefer to flee all together rather than meet this single man. He pressed forward to one side, cutting them off from the rest of the army and driving them all into the river. There they paddled about like swimming poodles until Achilles, leaving his lance on the bank, sprang after them to stab those whom he could reach with his sword. Finally he drove twelve youths into the reeds and there bound their hands behind their backs with his armor straps. He then led them out and gave them into the hands of his charioteer to take back to the Myrmidons. They were destined for a cruel sacrifice to Patroclus. Achilles turned again to the river and there he recognized with astonishment, among those who were trying in vain to clamber up the steep banks, a youth, son of Priam, named Lykaon, whom he had taken at the beginning of the war and sold for one hundred oxen into Lemnos. Some years later a rich Phrygian had purchased him, from whom he had but lately escaped, having returned only eleven days before to the house of his venerable father. “Ha! there is Lykaon!” cried Achilles in surprise. “How comes he here? This time he shall taste the tip of my spear and we shall see if he return from the underworld to cause me trouble again.” He went to fetch his spear and Lykaon swam as hard as he could to throw himself at his feet and beg for mercy. “Fool!” thundered the terrible voice of the hero, “what do I want with ransom money? Before Patroclus fell I was inclined to show mercy and carried away many captives, but now not one who falls into my hands shall survive—least of all one of Priam’s sons. Die then, my friend! Thou criest out in vain. Patroclus, too, had to die, who was far mightier than thou. And seest thou not how great and powerful I am? My father was a noble king, a goddess is my mother, and yet my death and doom are drawing near and sooner or later I shall fall by the spear or arrow.”