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Tales of Troy: Ulysses, the sacker of cities by Andrew Lang
page 66 of 95 (69%)
Penthesilea and the Trojans had driven back the Greeks within their
ditch, and they were hiding here and there among the ships, and torches
were blazing in men's hands to burn the ships, as in the day of the
valour of Hector: when Aias heard the din of battle, and called to
Achilles to make speed towards the ships.

So they ran swiftly to their huts, and armed themselves, and Aias fell
smiting and slaying upon the Trojans, but Achilles slew five of the
bodyguard of Penthesilea. She, beholding her maidens fallen, rode
straight against Aias and Achilles, like a dove defying two falcons, and
cast her spear, but it fell back blunted from the glorious shield that
the God had made for the son of Peleus. Then she threw another spear at
Aias, crying, "I am the daughter of the God of War," but his armour kept
out the spear, and he and Achilles laughed aloud. Aias paid no more heed
to the Amazon, but rushed against the Trojan men; while Achilles raised
the heavy spear that none but he could throw, and drove it down through
breastplate and breast of Penthesilea, yet still her hand grasped her
sword-hilt. But, ere she could draw her sword, Achilles speared her
horse, and horse and rider fell, and died in their fall.

There lay fair Penthesilea in the dust, like a tall poplar tree that the
wind has overthrown, and her helmet fell, and the Greeks who gathered
round marvelled to see her lie so beautiful in death, like Artemis, the
Goddess of the Woods, when she sleeps alone, weary with hunting on the
hills. Then the heart of Achilles was pierced with pity and sorrow,
thinking how she might have been his wife in his own country, had he
spared her, but he was never to see pleasant Phthia, his native land,
again. So Achilles stood and wept over Penthesilea dead.

Now the Greeks, in pity and sorrow, held their hands, and did not pursue
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