Part 10: The Duel of Bijan and Human

From that place they turned back and, as night fell, they left the field of battle. They returned to their own camps and rejoined their warriors. All night, even in sleep, they were troubled and unsettled, their hearts unable to bear the thought of the fight ahead. When dawn lifted its head above the mountains, the dark hem of night vanished. Human put on his battle armor and brought to Piran all that had passed. He said: I challenged Bijan, son of Giv, and all night I have made ready to fight him. He called a messenger from the army and set him on a fast, wind swift chestnut horse. He said: Go to Bijan and tell him to come quickly; if I arrive first, let him rush like smoke. The messenger went and told him: May wisdom be the companion of your pure soul. Commander Human came like dust on the wind to seek battle with Bijan. When Bijan heard, he came swiftly, already primed for the fight, along with the messenger. The saddle girth bound tight on his night black horse, he rode like a battling leopard, fierce and eager for war. His mail was knotted tight across his mighty chest, his head blazing beneath a royal helmet. He said to Human: You empty braggart, last night you carried off the day; remember that. But today I trust that this blade of mine will sever your head clean from your body, so that flowers spring from the earth watered by your blood. Take this old story to heart: The fierce mountain ram said to the deer: even if the whole plain turned to fine silk, once my foot has broken free of a snare, I will never wander that lush field again. Human answered: Today it is Giv whose liver will be left wounded, grieving over his brave son. You are in my grip like a pheasant that a falcon has carried up to the top of a cypress bough, screaming, blood dripping from both eyes, dragged in its talons, its blood a place of slaughter. Bijan said to him: How long will you keep talking? Where do you want to make your stand? Will you fight on Mount Kanabad, or shall we set the battle over toward Zibad, somewhere far off, where no rescuer can reach us, where neither Iran nor Turan comes to help? They spurred their horses, dust rose, and they set their war bows to the string. Two men bent on bloodshed lifted their heads to the moon, both fired with hatred for the king's sake. They galloped out from Mount Kanabad and drove their steeds toward the open plain. They rode until, across the land, they saw no trace of any human footprint, no vultures crossing the sky, no ground trodden by the paws of a lion, no friend or rescuer from the armies; all around them they saw no one at all. They made a pact that no one would suspect the herald of unfairness in reporting who prevailed. So that he might tell the king, both good and bad, the true turn of events in this fight. How each acted, how the battle went, and what suffering fell upon this field of blood. They spoke, then dismounted, and tightened the fastenings of their armor at the waist. The two warriors of battle drew their war horses close, hard as stone. When they had saddled their swift steeds, both heroes were full of rage, their hearts full of hate. They took up their bows as needed and charged into the narrow field. Wheeling left and right, reins turning, with spears and tempered blades. Their armor was torn to shreds; watch now to see whose day and fortune would turn. Their mouths hung open from the heat, and they longed for water and for rest. Then they rested and caught their breath, sprinkling moisture on that fierce fire. They raised their shields and sharp swords, and a cry rose up like doomsday. Like flashing lightning from a dark cloud, each blade struck sparks of fire. Iron met that tempered iron, yet neither blade bent under the blows. Like fire, the winged blades slipped from the hands of those brave men. They could not manage to draw blood, yet their hearts were not sated with the fight. After the swords they took up their maces, pushing the struggle beyond all measure. After that they set their task on this: to test their strength in open combat. In this way they sought honor and battle, each trying to throw the other from his saddle. Whoever had more strength would grip the belt, tear the other from his horse and cast him down in disgrace. From the heroes' force the stirrup straps snapped in the arena from the shock. Still neither was parted from his horse; neither could master the other. Then both dismounted from their horses and paused a while from the fight. The herald held their horses by the reins, while the two fighters roared like lions. In that weariness they rose again and readied themselves to wrestle. From dawn until the sun cast long shadows, two men of blood stood so, between fear and hope. They kept seeking combat with each other; neither turned his head aside from the feud. Mouths dry, bodies drenched in sweat from that toil and the burning of the sun. After that, by mutual consent, they went hurrying toward the water. Bijan drank and rose in pain, and gave thanks to God, the giver of good. His body trembled with pain like a willow in the wind, and his heart despaired of his sweet life. He said to God: Creator, you know what is hidden in me and what is plain. If you see justice in our fight, and in our seeking of this vengeance, do not cut off my strength today; keep my mind sharp and awake. Wounded to the liver, Human came on like a crow; his face went dark with pain, like a guttering lamp. Wounded as they were, they returned to battle, charging like leopards on the prowl. Each forced his weight against the other; now this one struck the ground, now that one. Human was stronger than Bijan, but skill turns to weakness when the sun turns away. They tested every kind of strength and grip, until the turning of the high heavens brought its chance. Bijan struck like a leopard; he reached out his claws from head to waist. He seized the neck with his left, the right thigh with his right, and bent that heavy giant's back. He lifted him off the ground and slammed him down, then, swift as the wind, went for his dagger. He drove it in and cut the head from the body, throwing him down like a slain dragon. Human rolled in the dust; the whole plain became, end to end, a river of blood. Bijan looked upon that mighty man, fallen like a tall cypress across a meadow. He was struck with deep wonder, and turning from him, he faced the Creator of the world. saying: You who are above all place and time, who give the soul its speech and the spirit its light, you alone are you; there is no ruler of the world but you, and reason cannot contend with this work. None of this feat is mine at all, for I had no courage to seek battle with an elephant of a man. In vengeance for Siyavash I cut off his head, for the seventy kinsmen slain, father and brother. May his soul be a slave to that soul; may his body be torn by the claws of lions. He tied the head to the saddle straps of his black horse and flung the body low into the dust. The armor was undone, the belt broken; the body lay in one place, the head in another. Time is nothing but deceit from end to end; in your hard hour it will bring you no rescue. Since the world's show does not match its deeds, it is not worthy to hand it your heart. When Human's ally saw this, he grew afraid, seeing what had befallen his chief. When the work of Human, son of Vise, was done, the interpreters of both armies came running. Full of praise, they came before Bijan, as Brahmins bow before the idol of China. Bijan told them: do not fear any harm; the pact stands as before, and he loosed the bond. Now go back to your own army, and tell them everything you saw of me. The translator went, and Bijan came running to the mountain of Kanabad, his bow strung and ready. When Bijan surveyed that battlefield, he saw no way out except straight through the army of Turan. He feared that among those crowds of soldiers, someone would recognize what had happened. They might rush at him in battle like a mountain, and one man alone could not stand against a whole host. So he stripped off Siyavash's mail from himself and put on Human's coat of armor instead. He mounted that elephant-bodied warhorse, the banner of the great chiefs in his hand. He rode off and blessed that plain, blessing his wakeful fortune and that blessed ground. When the army's lookouts saw from afar the banner and emblem of the commander from the line of Tur, seeing them, they rose from their watchtower and raised their voices in shouts of joy. A scout sent a swift camel racing off, quick as smoke, toward Piran, to say that Human, victorious for the king, came galloping back from the heart of the fight, the banner of Iran's commander overturned, his body left drowning in the dust, the whole Iranian army in an uproar, and the commander listening for word of Human. When Bijan, between the two facing armies, reached that place beneath the crown and throne, at that moment the translator reached Turan and told the ill-boding suspicions of what he had seen. Just then the news reached Piran that the royal splendor had gone dark. Swiftly, in the midst of the army, Bijan flipped that black banner upside down. When the lookouts of the Iranian army saw that black banner overturned, they turned their faces toward their commander and raised a great cry from the watchtower. From there a scout launched a swift, camel-like courier toward the commander, to say that Bijan had come back victorious like a lion, having brought the black banner low. Giv, meanwhile, had grown frantic like a madman, crying out and running in every direction, searching for news of that hero-son, turning a time of feasting into mourning. When word of Bijan reached him, he set off at once, galloping toward his son. When his eyes fell on that beloved face, he came down from his horse as was fitting. He rolled in the dust and pressed his head to the ground, calling out praise to the just God. He clasped his son to his chest once more, the brave, young, and wise one. And from there, giving thanks, they set out at a gallop toward the king's commander. When they saw the commander from afar, the grandson of Tur's line came down from his horse. His weapons soaked in blood, his head covered in dust, Human's severed head tied to his saddle-straps. Bizhan rushed to his grandfather like smoke, and kept remembering where he had just been. He gathered Human's weapons, his head, and his horse, and carried them to the commander Gudarz. The champion was so overjoyed with Bizhan that he seemed ready to pour out his very soul. Then he gave praise to the Creator, and to that star and his wakeful fortune. The champion then ordered his treasurer: bring a crown along with royal garments, woven with jewels, figured on a ground of gold, the crown and belt glittering like the sun. They brought ten horses with golden bridles, ten servants lovely as fairies, in golden belts. He gave them to him and said: since the days of Sam the lion, no one has ever brought a dragon down like this. You have opened the way to victory for the army in this war, and shattered the heart of the king of the Turks. The whole army of the king of Iran was like lions, roaring, charging, their swift steeds beneath them. But Piran's grief turned to fury, his heart worn by pain, his eyes brimming with tears. He then sent a messenger to Nastihan: O renowned warrior, my champion who comes to aid, it is fitting that you strike hard and fierce in battle, and waste no time in avenging your brother. Launch a night raid upon the Iranians, and make the earth run with blood like the Oxus. Take ten thousand seasoned horsemen, girded for vengeance and for war. So that you may avenge your Human, and crush the heads of the enemies in your jaws. When you have drawn near the army, send part of the force toward Human's place. Nastihan replied: I will do it so that I make the earth run like the Oxus with blood.