Rostam Routs the Army of Turan

When the sun lifted its head above the mountains, the horsemen of Turan tied on their gear. The city shook and a roar went up; you would think the noise itself had deafened every ear. They came to the court of Afrasiyab, and the belted warriors lined up before his door. Every one of them ready for war, their hearts emptied of home and peace. The nobles of Turan, belts loosened for battle, bowed their heads to the ground before the commander. All had girded themselves for the fight, every heart full of hatred for the Iranians. They said: our talk has gone past all bounds; how must an end be set to this affair? For from this disgrace to the king and his proud lords, the mark of Bizhan's deed will linger. In Iran they will not count us as men; they will call us women who have belted on swords. Then the king flew into a rage like a leopard, and after that he ordered them to prepare for war. He commanded Piran to beat the war drums, for only mockery had come to them from Iran. The brazen trumpet sounded at the king's court, and the army seethed through the city of Turan. The heroes formed ranks at the palace gate; the blare of horns and Indian bells rose up. So great an army rode into that region that nothing of the earth was left uncovered but the sea. When the watchman looked out from his lookout, he saw the ground like a boiling sea. He came to Rostam: get ready for action, for the world has gone black with the dust of riders. Rostam told him: we have no fear of this; we will scatter dust over their fight. He sent off the baggage and Manizheh, then put on his own battle garments. He climbed a height, saw the army, and let out a roar like a raging lion. The bold rider spoke a proverb: what weight has a fox against the claws of a lion? He called out to his warriors: today has come the reckoning of honor and battle. Where now are the sword and the poison-tipped javelin? Where the spear and the ox-headed mace? Now our skills must be shown; on this plain the score of vengeance must be settled. The trumpet's blast rang out, and Rostam pressed his foot into Rakhsh. He rode down from the mountaintop to the plain as the enemy army came pressing near. They spread their forces across that broad plain, and on every side they raised a wall of iron. Rostam arranged a battlefield so that the sky went black from the dust of horses. On the right wing were Ashkash and Gostaham, with many horsemen alongside them. On the left were Roham and Zangeh, wholly given over to the bloodshed of war. He himself and Bizhan, son of Giv, held the center, guarding the champions and the army's rear. Behind the army, like a Bisotun mountain, stood a fortress of swords set out in front. When Afrasiyab saw that army, and saw that Rostam had appeared as their leader, he grew troubled and put on his battle armor, and ordered his troops to hold their ground. He drew up a ranked line facing them; the sky turned indigo, the ground vanished from sight. He gave the left wing to Piran, and the right to Human the champion. He entrusted the center to Garsivaz and Shideh, and kept watch on every side. Rostam circled around the army, in iron like a black mountain. He cried out: You Turk of a shaken fate, you are a disgrace to your army, crown, and throne. You have no fighting heart like real horsemen; you feel no shame before the champions of your host. Yet you keep coming against me for revenge, blanketing the ground with men and horses. When the army grows fierce-clawed in battle, I see only your back turned to the fight. Did you never hear the tale from Zal, the one he keeps in memory from ancient days, that a lion fears not a whole plain of wild asses, and no star shines against the blazing sun? The heart and ear of the great wild ram burst if it hears the name of the wolf's claw. When the hawk spreads its wings in the sky, the male partridge dreads its talons. The fox does not grow bold by trying, nor do wild asses blunt the lion's claws. May no king be as light-headed as you; when one is, he throws his kingdom to the wind. On this plain and open field you will not escape my hand, neither with your life nor your body. When the grim Turk heard these words, he trembled and drew a sharp, hard breath. He flew into a rage: You famed men of Tur, this is a field of war, not a place for feasting. You must bear the hardship of this battle, for I will grant you many crowns and treasures. When their commander's words reached their ears, a roar rose up from the army's champions. The sun grew so dark with dust that you would think it stayed drowned in water. They strapped brazen kettledrums onto the elephants, and blew the trumpets with the horns. The champions drew across the earth a wall of iron made of chain mail. The plain boiled and the mountains shook with the shouts of the riders of both hosts. Sharp swords flashed within the dust; you would say the Day of Resurrection had come. Maces rained down like hail on armor and helmets, along with arrows. And from Rostam's dragon-marked banner the face of the shining sun turned violet. The dust of the elephants veiled the sky; it was as if the sun had been smeared with indigo. Wherever Rostam flung Rakhsh, he parted the heads of chieftains from their bodies. In his hand the ox-headed mace, and he like a camel that has snapped its halter. He killed and bound on the battlefield, and destroyed many of the great. He plunged into the center like a wolf and scattered that mighty army. He drove those chieftains from their places like the wind, along with their swift, noble steeds. Gorgin, Roham, and Farhad the champion swept away the left wing of the Turanian king. Ashkash swept in from the right like the wind, seeking vengeance with his sword from Garsivaz. In the center the fierce-clawed Bizhan made the feasting-place his field of war. The heads of the riders fell like leaves from a tree, and their fortune was overturned. The whole battlefield was one stream of blood, and the Turanian commander's banner lay toppled. When the commander saw fortune turned against him, and saw the brave of Turan all slain, he threw the Indian sword from his hand and mounted a fresher horse. He and his intimates fled toward Turan, for they had found neither triumph nor revenge from the Iranians. Rostam, seizer of dust, went after him, and rained mace and arrow upon his army. For two leagues, like a grim dragon, he tore the breath of life out of them. A thousand warlike horsemen of Turan they took alive after the battle. He returned from that battlefield to the camp, to divide the spoils among his troops. He shared it out and loaded the rest on the elephants, and came in triumph to the king.