Then Telamonian Ajax smote to death Epicles, great of soul, Sarpedon’s friend: Against that chief he cast a huge, rough stone, That lay high up beside a pinnacle Within the wall. No man with both his hands⁠— Such men as now are⁠—though in prime of youth, Could lift its weight; and yet he wielded it Aloft, and flung it. Through the four-coned helm It crashed, and brake the skull within. Down plunged The Lycian, like a diver, from his place On the high tower, and life forsook his limbs. Then Teucer also wounded with a shaft Glaucus, the brave son of Hippolochus, As he leaped forth to scale the lofty wall⁠— Wounded him where the naked arm was seen, And made him leave the combat. Back he sprang, Hiding amid the crowd, that so the Greeks Might not behold the wounded limb, and scoff. With grief Sarpedon saw his friend withdraw, Yet paused not from the conflict, but took aim At Thestor’s son, Alcmaon, with his spear; Pierced him; and drew the weapon out. The Greek, Following the spear, fell headlong; and his arms, Studded with brass, clashed round him as he fell.