Dolon.
I said before, of gold we have our fill.
Hector.
For spoils and armour . . . thou shalt choose at will.
Dolon.
Nail them for trophies on some temple wall.
Hector.
What seeks the man? What prize more rich than all?
Dolon.
Achilles' horses! [Murmurs of surprise. Yes, I need a great
Prize. I am dicing for my life with Fate.