As an oak falls headlong when uprooted by the lightning flash of father Jove, and there is a terrible smell of brimstone--no man can help being dismayed if he is standing near it, for a thunderbolt is a very awful thing--even so did Hector fall to earth and bite the dust.

His spear fell from his hand, but his shield and helmet were made fast about his body, and his bronze armour rang about him.
The sons of the Achaeans came running with a loud cry towards him, hoping to drag him away, and they showered their darts on the Trojans, but none of them could wound him before he was surrounded and covered by the princes Polydamas, Aeneas, Agenor, Sarpedon captain of the Lycians, and noble Glaucus.

Of the others, too, there was not one who was unmindful of him, and they held their round shields over him to cover him.

His comrades then lifted him off the ground and bore him away from the battle to the place where his horses stood waiting for him at the rear of the fight with their driver and the chariot; these then took him towards the city groaning and in great pain.

When they reached the ford of the fair stream of Xanthus, begotten of Immortal Jove, they took him from off his chariot and laid him down on the ground; they poured water over him, and as they did so he breathed again and opened his eyes.