Tale of Forud, Son of Siyavash

When the world-seeking hero has risen high and grown mighty, he must not hand his army over to the enemy. Tears well up on his lashes out of envy, tears for which no doctor knows a cure. One who comes from the line of the great is destined to grow larger, and that is his true measure. When a servant must live without his heart's desire, he ends up telling tales that serve someone else's wishes. When the commander calls such a man his friend, reason will not sit well with his heart. If fate keeps him from what he longs for, then even creation itself will not read him with love. His heart will wish no good for anyone, and his desires will become the breakers of hearts. And there is another who has no reason at his root, and the wise do not count him among true people. When you have heard this whole story from beginning to end, you will see the very source of ill nature.

When the sun lifted itself high and settled on its swift summit, it drew the sign of Aries down beneath it, until the whole earth turned golden. The war drum sounded from Tus's court, along with the wail of the horn and the boom of the kettledrum. A great cry rose across the whole country; the earth was full of clamor, the air boiling with it. From the neighing of horses and the dust of the troops, the faces of sun and moon turned pitch black. From the clash of weapons and the trumpeting of elephants, you would think the world had been steeped in indigo. The air turned red and yellow, blue and violet from the flashing of the Kaviani banner. The horsemen of Gudarz's clan wheeled around, and at their center flew the Kaviani standard. The commander, with his crown, his mace, and his horn, came out from above the royal pavilion. Tus advanced with the Kaviani banner, golden slippers upon his feet. An elephant-shaped standard rose above him, its shining head lifted into the clouds. The great nobles who wore torques and crowns, world-seekers all, sprung from the line of Nowzar, moved off together like a black mountain, galloping and charging toward the king. He ordered the famous heroes to be brought, led from the army's ranks to the king. When the whole army had come before the king, they came roaring, with banners and helmets. The vigilant king spoke to them thus: that Tus, the commander, at the head of the army, stands with the Kaviani standard; you must gird yourselves to obey his command. He handed him a seal before the troops, as the sign that Tus is their leader and finds the way. All must obey his orders, for through him every knot is untied. He told him: do not break my covenant; keep to my customs and my command. No one on the road should be harmed; such is the code of the throne and the crown. Whether a farmer or a working craftsman, anyone who does not gird himself for war, no cold wind should ever blow upon him; fight with no one except those who face you in battle. Do not inflict suffering on those who cause none, for this fleeting world stays with no one forever. Do not pass by Kalat in any way; if you take that road, the whole plan will fall apart. May the soul of Siyavash shine like the sun; may he have a place of hope in that other world. He had a son by Piran's daughter, one who was scarcely different from his father. The boy also resembled me like a brother, young, of my own age, and blessed with fortune. Now he is in Kalat with his mother, a world-seeker with glory and an army. He knows no one from Iran by name, so you should not turn your reins that way. He has troops and famous warriors, and a mountain barring the hard, narrow road. He is a fighter, a hero, a horseman, noble in lineage and renowned in his own person. You must take the road through the desert; it is not good to attack lions. Then Tus spoke to the king: that fate will not overstep your will. I will take whatever road you command; nothing but good ever comes from your orders.

The commander left in haste, and the king turned back toward the palace with Rostam and the army. He arranged a gathering with the mighty Rostam, along with nobles, priests, and wise royal counselors. He spoke at length about Afrasiab, about his own suffering and his father's pain. About the wrongs done to his devout mother: what that cruel and treacherous man had done to us. He handed me over to lowly shepherds; no one knew my name or my lineage. This time I have sent Tus and the army; from now on you and I will take the road ourselves. We will make the world close in on the evil-minded, and crush our enemies' heads beneath the stone. The mighty Rostam told him: do not grieve; the whole of time will turn to your wish. Meanwhile the army marched on, camp by camp, until a fork in the road appeared before them. On one side lay a desert with no water, no moisture; on the other, Kalat and the road through Charm. They halted the elephants and the war drums there, waiting for the commander Tus to arrive. So that whichever of the two roads he chose, the army might march that way by his command. When Tus came gently to his chiefs, he spoke of that hot and waterless road. He said to Godarz: even if the wind carried perfume across this parched desert, sweet as amber and musk, if we push hard for a whole long day, we will still need water and rest. It is better that we head toward Kalat and Charm, and make our camp at the village of Mim. Left and right there is fertile land and flowing water; why seek the desert and torment our souls? One day I traveled this road myself, with Gazhdaham as guide before the army. We found no long hardship on this route, though there was some rise and fall in the ground. Godarz said to him: the noble king made you the leader at the head of the army. Lead the troops along the road he named; no harm must come to anyone. The king's heart must not be grieved, for harm to him means harm to the whole army. Tus said to him: O famous warrior, do not hold such a thought in your heart. The king's heart will not be darkened by this; it is best you not make grief your soul's companion. It is better we take the army this way, and not count out the desert and its leagues. They all agreed to what he said, and no one argued against it any further. So they drove the elephants and the war drums along that road, by the command and judgment of the commander Tus.

Then word reached Forud: the face of the shining sun had turned dark blue. From the hooves of the horses and the feet of the elephants, the world had turned into a sea like the Nile. When the young man, untried in war, heard this, his heart filled with pain and his spirit grew dark. He ordered that everything left roaming free, the camels and the flocks of sheep, the herds too, be gathered and penned in, so that nothing was left on the mountain or the plain. All of it was driven up to Mount Sepid and shut away where the crowd was gathered. Jarireh was the woman who was Forud's mother; her heart was full of grief for Siavash. Young Forud came to his mother and said, 'Mother, bright of soul, an army has come from Iran, with elephants and war drums, and at its head the proud Tus.' 'What do you say, what should we do now? We must not let them mount a sudden attack.' Jarireh said to him, 'You who are made for battle, may you never be forced to face such a day.' 'In Iran your brother is the new king: the wise and watchful world-ruler, Kaykhosrow.' 'He knows you well by name and lineage, of one blood, born of the same father.' 'If your brother is seeking revenge, he is washing clean the soul of Siavash.' 'If he seeks vengeance for his father, then vengeance suits you even more, it is precious for you.' 'Cover your chest in Roman armor, go out with a heart full of fire and a head full of fury.' 'Go before your brother's army; you be the new avenger, and he the new king.' 'It is fitting that even the leopard should moan from this grief, and the crocodile rise roaring from the sea,' 'and that the birds and the fish in the water should call down curses on Afrasiyab,' 'for never in the world will another famous man buckle on his belt like the horseman Siavash,' 'in bravery, manhood, warfare and noble birth, in majesty, wisdom, weight and justice.' 'Piran first gave me to him; otherwise he would not have sought a wife from among the Turks.' 'Your lineage, on your mother's side and your father's, is all crowned and all renowned.' 'You are the son of such a famous lord, of royal Kayanid stock and royal in appearance.' 'You must gird your belt to avenge your father, to live up to your race and your birth.' After that Forud said to his mother, 'With whom should I speak about the Iranians?' 'Who among these proud men of the day of battle should be my helper and support?' 'For I know none of them by name; no greeting or message has come to me.' She said, 'Go from here with Tokhvar, and do not take this matter lightly in your heart.' 'For he knows every man of Iran, high and low, and can name each shepherd and each flock.' 'Ask him about Bahram and Zangeh of Shavaran, and about the warriors and champions.' 'May your name and your honor live forever, and may the soul of Siavash shine bright.' 'These two were never apart from him; they were his generals and he their king.' 'Seek word of these two proud champions, for between them and us there are no secrets.' 'Summon the chiefs and the proud men; prepare wine and robes of honor, a fine spread and a feast.' 'The world's treasure is enough for your brother; keep the vengeance and its ways for the strangers.' 'Now you be the vanguard of the army; you are the avenger of the new world-ruler.' 'You must go ahead to seek revenge, gird your belt at your waist, and charge.' He said to her, 'Your counsel, lioness, brings glory to the family and the assembly.' When the sound of the drum rose from the leather, the world turned dark as ebony with the haze. A watchman came down from the lookout and spoke to him about the army of Iran, 'The plain, the passes, and the mountains are full of soldiers; you would think the sun itself is trapped in the crush.' 'From the gate of the fortress to the desert of Gang there are troops, elephants, and men of war.' Forud lowered the bar at the fortress gate and looked out at the army from the high mountain. Then he came and shut the fortress gate, and mounted a swift-running steed. Tokhvar and Forud set out at a run; the young man's fortune was still at its height. But when the wheel of fate turns crooked from above, in the end neither fierceness nor kindness is of any use. They chose the summit of a high peak from which the whole Iranian host could be seen. The young man said to Tokhvar of the palace, 'Whatever I ask you, do not hide from me.' 'Each general, and every man who carries a banner, master of the mace and the golden boots,' 'when I see him, tell me his name, anyone you know among the men of Iran.'

The riders reached the mountain ridge; the army poured in, wave upon wave. Thirty thousand shield-bearers and spearmen, all hungry for the fight of battle. Horsemen and foot soldiers with golden belts, every one bearing a sword, every one a spear. So many golden helmets and golden banners, golden maces and golden boots. You would think no gold was left in the mine, that a cloud had risen and rained down jewels. From the crash of drums between the two mountains, even the vulture's heart grew weary in the sky. He said: now name the banners of the great lords; tell me and hide nothing at all. He asked him: that banner shaped like an elephant, those riders and those violet-gleaming swords, who among the army commands such gear and such array? When Tokhar heard his words, he answered: my king, that is the guard behind Tus the commander, whose fury in the fight is fierce. Behind him is another banner, its emblem bright as the shining sun. That is your father's brother, glorious and blessed, the commander named Fariborz, son of Kavus. Behind him a great banner bearing the moon, with many bold warriors and a mighty champion. Call his name Gostaham son of Gazhdaham, before whom the elephant trembles to the bone. Behind him a long banner bearing a wolf, with many battle-ready men around him. Beneath it stands Zangeh son of Shavaran, with the brave, the champions, and the heroes. A banner with the figure of a servant like the moon, its body ruby-red, its curls of black silk. Bizhan son of Giv drives it forward, the one who splashes blood up to the sky. A banner whose emblem is a tiger, before which the lion's very spine breaks. The champion Shidush holds it aloft, moving into place like a mountain rising. There is the boar banner with a boar's figure, an army skilled with the lasso and ready for war. A banner whose emblem is a buffalo, the host behind and the spearmen in front. Know that it belongs to the famous Farhad, one you might say stands equal to the heavens. A banner whose figure is a dark grey wolf, the sign of the great commander Giv. A banner bearing a lion in gold, which Gudarz son of Keshvad carries at its head. A banner with a leopard and a boar's figure; behind it comes Rivniz, proud and content. A banner whose emblem is a gazelle, where Nastuh son of Gudarz stands with his troops. A banner marked with a wild ram belongs to Bahram, son of Gudarz of the line of Keshvad. They are all lion-hearted men, champions and riders; to name each one would take too long. When he had told, one by one, the marks of the heroes to Forud, that prince of kings, Forud looked over the great and the lesser men, and with joy his face bloomed like a flower.

When the Iranians, from the crest of the mountain, spotted the place where Forud and Tokhar stood, Tus, the commander, grew furious at them and halted his elephants and war drums where they stood. He said: from this famed army, one horseman, a true and able man, must now step forward, who will break away from our ranks and ride his horse up to the mountain peak, to see who those two warriors are, and what they are gathering up there on the summit. If it turns out they belong to our own army, let him strike each with two hundred lashes; but if they are Turks looking for a fight, let him bind them and drag them to me. And if they are killed, let him bury them; it is fitting he feel no fear or dread of that. But if they are enemy scouts, secretly counting our troops, then he must cut them down on the spot, then descend the mountain and return. Bahram, son of Gudarz, said to the commander: I cannot hide from this task. I will go and carry out all you have said; I will bring that whole mountaintop to heel. He spurred his horse and rode out from the ranks, and deep in thought set out for the peak. Then the noble one, Forud, said to Tokhar: who is this coming so cautiously up here? It seems he means to check us out; he climbs the slope with such urgency. He rides a chestnut warhorse, with a lasso tied to his saddle straps. Then the counselor Tokhar said to Forud: you must not treat this man harshly. I do not know his name or family, but I suspect he is one of Gudarz's line. When Khosrow came from Turan to Iran, one of the royal helmets went missing; I have a hunch that helmet is on his head, and royal armor covers his chest down to the waist. He surely descends from Gudarz; we should open our lips and question him. When Bahram climbed up to the height of the peak, he roared like a thundering storm cloud. What sort of man are you, he said, up on this mountain? Do you not see the countless army below? Do you not hear the wail of horn and war drum? Do you not fear Tus, the ever-watchful commander? Forud answered him back: you have not met harshness, so do not act harsh with me. Speak gently, you seasoned man of the world; do not dress your lips in cold, cutting words. You are no war-lion and I no wild ass of the plain; you cannot pass over us this way. You have no more than I do in horsemanship, in manhood, or in bodily strength. Head and hand and foot, heart and brain and wits, a speaking tongue, and eyes and ears, look at me: I too have all these. If so, then do not raise your hand for nothing. I will ask you something; if you answer, and if you set a kind mind to it, I will be glad. Bahram said to him: come now, speak. You are up above, and I am here below. Forud then asked: who is your commander, and who is renowned among you in battle? Bahram told him: the commander is Tus, who bears the Kaviani banner and the war drums; among the champions are Gudarz, Rohham, and Giv, and Gorgin, Shidush, and brave Farhad; and Gostahm, and Zangeh of Shavaran, and Gorazeh, chief of the mighty warriors. Forud said: why did you not name Bahram, and leave your account half done? Of Gudarz's line, it is with two of them we are glad, yet you made no mention at all of him. Bahram said to him: O lion-hearted man, who told you about Bahram like this? Forud answered him: I heard this tale from my mother. She told me: when the army comes before you, go to meet it and ask for Bahram by name; and for another famed warrior, whose name is Zangeh of Shavaran. They are like foster brothers to your father; it is fitting you should seek them out. Bahram said to him: O fortunate one, you are the fruit of that royal tree. You are Forud, young prince; may you live forever, radiant of soul. He said: yes, I am truly Forud; from that felled cypress a branch has sprung. Bahram said: then show me your body; show me the bare mark of Siyavash on you. Forud bared his arm for Bahram; upon its rose-like skin was a mole of dark amber, such that no painter, with the finest compass of China, could ever draw its like on earth. Bahram knew then that he sprang from Kubad's line, and descended from the seed of Siyavash. He blessed him and bowed low before him, then climbed the steep, long height to reach him. The young prince dismounted from his horse and sat, bright of soul, upon a rock. He said to Bahram: O proud man, worldly, keen-eyed, a lion in battle, if my two eyes had seen my father alive, they would surely be no gladder than now, for I have seen you: joyful, bright of soul, gifted, clear-hearted, and a champion. I came up to this peak so that, from among the famed men of Iran's host, I might ask some man who the commander is, and who is renowned in battle. I will hold a feast, as lavish as I can, and gaze in joy upon the champion's face. Of horses, swords, maces, and belts, I will give generously of everything. And after that I will march before the army, and go to Turan with a grieving, vengeful heart. I am the one fit to seek this vengeance; in war I am a fierce, blazing fire. It would be right if you told the champion to come to this rock, bright of soul, and we spend a week together here, weighing everything, great and small. On the eighth day, when the war drums sound, Tus the commander can mount his saddle. I will gird myself for my father's vengeance and wage a war that tears the liver apart, one that will teach even the lion how to fight, and prove the strength of the vulture's wing; a vengeance the like of which no defiant hero in all the world has ever girded for. Bahram said to him: O prince, young and gifted, valiant and a fine rider, I will tell Tus everything you have said, and beg it of him, and kiss his hand for it. But the commander is not a wise man; his head and mind are not open to good counsel. He has skill, and wealth, and noble birth, yet he keeps no thought of the king in his heart. He rebelled against Giv, Gudarz, and the king, all for Fariborz and the throne and crown. He keeps saying: I am of Nozar's stock; the world's kingship befits none but me. It is likely he will scoff at my words and turn harshly against what I have done. No one but me should come to you; let none but me set eyes upon your face and helmet. For he is a willful man, without warp or weft; if another comes, he offers no proper greeting. And besides, his heart is not honest toward us, since he wanted the crown for Fariborz. He told me: look and see who is on the mountain; when you get there, do not ask what they want. Speak only with mace and dagger; why should anyone be up on the mountain on such a day? If he becomes agreeable, I will come with good news and bring you before the army, well-content. But if someone other than me comes, you should not feel too safe with him. No more than a single rider will come to you; such is the custom of this famed man. When he comes, watch and decide what to do; shut yourself in the fortress and do not leave your place. Then Forud drew from his belt a turquoise-studded mace with a golden hilt, gave it to him and said: keep this as a memento from me, until it comes to use one day. When Tus the commander accepts the visit, we will be bright of heart and content. Besides this, there will be gifts, and horses with saddles, a golden crown and a royal signet ring.

When Bahram returned, he said to Tus: May wisdom stay the companion of your pure soul. Know that this Forud is the son of the king, of Siyavash, who was killed though he was innocent. He showed the marks that prove his bloodline descends from Kavus and from Kay Qobad. King Kay Khosrow gave you clear counsel: do not go circling around Forud, son of Siyavash. The cruel Tus answered him this way: I am the one who holds this army, its horns and its drums. I told you to bring him to me; do not go pleading his case at all. If he is a king, then who am I? Why does he sit up on that mountain, and for what? Some Turkish boy, black as a crow, has blocked the army's path like this. I see nothing in these headstrong sons of Gudarz but men who bring only harm to the troops. You were frightened of one worthless rider; he was no raging lion up on the highlands. He saw the army and turned back to trickery, and pointlessly measured every rise and fall of the slope.

Then he spoke to the rebellious chiefs: 'You famous men, you proud commanders, I want one renowned man, a seeker of glory, who will ride from here toward that Turk, cut off his head from his body with a dagger, and bring it before me in this gathering.' Rivniz girded himself for that combat; the moment of that fight seemed his to win. Bahram said to him: 'O champion, do not blindly darken your own soul. Fear the Lord of the sun and the moon, and let your heart feel shame before the king's own face. For this is the king's kin, his half brother, a famous horseman and a fighter, so that if a single rider from the army goes up against that gifted son of the king, he will not escape his grip alive; you would only bring grief upon a glad heart.' The commander was enraged by his words; brave Bahram's counsel did not sit well with him. He ordered a number of renowned warriors to gallop up toward the high mountain. Many of the champions rode out, lifting their necks proudly for the fight. Brave Bahram said to them: 'Do not treat this whole matter as something small. On that mountaintop stands Kaykhosrow's own kin, and a single hair of his is worth a hundred heroes. Whoever once saw the face of Siyavash cannot find peace after seeing his likeness.' When Bahram gave this warning about Forud, the proud men turned back from the road. Then Tus's son in law came forward, while fate mocked him along the way. He climbed the leather path up White Mountain; his heart was full of cruelty, and he grew relentless. When Forud saw him from the crest of the height, he drew the royal bow from its case. He said to battle tested Takhvar: 'Tus has held those words of mine in contempt. A rider has come, and it is not Bahram; my heart is hardened, and I have no ease. Look, and see if you recall who he is: why is he clad in iron from head to foot?' Takhvar answered him: 'This is Rivniz, a brave man and a horseman. He has forty sisters, lovely as fresh spring; he is the only son in that whole line. He is a deceiver, treacherous and a flatterer, bold and young, and the son in law of Tus.' Forud said to the clear sighted man: 'At the time of battle, such things should not be heard. When he comes to fight the warriors, I will lay him down to sleep in his sisters' laps. If the wind of my arrow so much as brushes him, do not count him among the living if he survives. And if I miss the rider, I will strike his horse dead with my arrow. What do you say, experienced Takhvar?' He replied: 'Aim at the man himself, so that Tus's liver will burn with grief over him, and he will know that you set your heart on peace, that you wished for reconciliation with him, yet he still picked this senseless fight with you and brought shame upon your brother.' When Rivniz drew near from afar, Forud bent that curved bow of box wood. From the height he drove a poplar arrow through his chest, pinning his head to his Roman helmet. Rivniz fell, and his swift horse bolted away; the head of Rivniz went down into the dust. When Tus looked up from the plain to the height, that mountain vanished from his sight. A wise man once told this tale: from evil temper, the mountain reaps its punishment.

Then the commander said to Zarasp: Let your heart blaze like a sacred fire. Put on the armor of warriors ready for battle, and guard your body and your life with care. Perhaps it is you who wants vengeance for that famous man; for otherwise I see no one eager for it. Zarasp came and set his helmet on his head, his heart full of hatred, his lips full of boasting. Shouting, he spurred his horse forward, and sprang from his place like leaping fire. The raging lion said to Tokhar: Another famous man has come, and this one is different. Look and tell me who this man is, whether he is a prince or just a soldier. The warrior Tokhar said to the young king: The turning of fate's wheel has come. This is the son of Tus, and his name is Zarasp, a man who would not turn his horse even from a war elephant. He is married to Rivniz's sister, and this fortune seeker too has come for vengeance. When you see his chest, his arm, and his helmet, you must loose an arrow of poplar wood at him. So that his head goes down into the dust, and his torso topples headlong from the saddle. Then the mad commander Tus will know that we were not here to be mocked. The brave Forud urged his horse forward and struck an arrow into the middle of Zarasp. It pinned his body to the ridge of the saddle, and the arrowhead set his soul aflame as it left him. He fell, and the swift horse turned away from him, rushing back, roaring and stumbling, to its place. A great cry rose from the army of Iran, and the warriors lifted the caps from their heads in grief. Tus, his heart bleeding and his eyes full of tears, put on his mail in haste. He mourned bitterly among his fighting men, trembling like a leaf on a tree. He sat upon the saddle like a great mountain set on the back of a mighty elephant. He turned his reins toward Forud, his heart full of hatred, his head full of smoke.

Tokhvar the counselor spoke at that moment, when mountain upon mountain came roaring in. It is General Tus who has come to fight; you cannot stand against that seasoned dragon of war. Let us go and shut the fortress gate tight, and see what fate has in store for us. Since you cut down his son and son-in-law in battle, do not now dream of feasting and ease. Young Forud grew sharp with Tokhvar, saying: when battle and the clash of arms draw near, what is Tus, what is a lion, what is a raging elephant, what is a warlike dragon or a striped tiger to me? In battle a man finds his courage; you do not sit a warrior down on roses over a blazing fire. Tokhvar answered the young prince this way: kings do not treat wise words with scorn. You too are but one horseman, even if made of iron, even if you could tear a granite mountain from its roots. Thirty thousand renowned Iranians will come to fight you on this mountainside. No fortress will remain here, no stone, no earth; they will level everything to the ground. And if Tus suffers some harm from this, grief over him will bring sorrow to the king. A defeat will fall upon the cause of avenging your father, a break that can never be mended. Turn your reins and shoot no arrow; go into the fortress, do not waste your effort in vain. Whatever should have been said beforehand, he did not say; he kept it hidden. Because of a worthless, incompetent advisor, battle became Forud's gain and his life the loss.

Young Forud had a thriving fortress, and inside it stood seventy attendants. All the moon-faced beauties were up on the ramparts, standing watch like woven Chinese silk. The thought of turning back left young Forud with a darkened, heavy heart. He said to the prince Tokhar: if you really want to seek out battle, take care not to break the famous Tus; better for you to shoot his horse down instead. And besides, his fated hour has not come; a single arrow from the bow will not kill him. Now that the commander has climbed to this mountain ridge, his whole army will soon come along. You have no strength to stand against him in war; you have not seen the far reach of his arrows. Forud heard these words from Tokhar, then strung his bow and drew it back. He struck an arrow into the commander's horse, a shot worthy of the finest riders. The Arab steed's head dropped and it gave up its life; Tus grew full of spite, his head full of fury. He came back to the camp on foot, shield on his neck, covered in dust and dazed. Forud mocked him from behind: what has happened to this famous champion, that he is so worn down by a single rider? How will he ever hold up in the ranks of battle? The attendants burst out laughing and shouted their cheers from the walls, that an old man rolled down from the heights before a youth, out of fear of his arrow. The commander came down from the mountaintop, and his warriors approached, heads bowed with grief. They said: now that you have returned unharmed, there is no need to wash our faces with tears. The noble Giv was shaken by this affair, that the great commander had come back on foot. He said: there is no measure to this insult; the faces of the famed will not shine fresh with it. Even if he is a prince with the royal earring, how can he treat so great and dense an army with contempt? We must not go along with him, no matter what tale he spins to justify it. If Tus flared up in anger just once, the world has been thrown into torment by Forud. Let us give our lives for Siyavash; we must not forget this wrong. The precious Zarasp was killed by him, a proud rider of Nozar's line. Rivniz's body is drowned in blood; what greater humiliation could we still witness? Gorui, son of Jam and once the mind of Qobad, in his folly opened the way to this war.

As he spoke, he strapped on his armor in haste; the leather straps nearly tore against his body. He mounted his fierce, dragon-like horse and rode proudly toward Charm. When Forud saw Siyavash, he drew a cold sigh up from the depths of his heart. He said: this war-hardened army does not know the ups and downs of this ground. Each is braver than the next; their forms shine like the blazing sun. But a warrior without wisdom is like a head without a mind, a body without a soul. I fear they will not win this vengeance unless Khosrow himself comes to the land of Turan. For our father's blood we will all rise up, so we may crush our enemies in our grip. Tell me: who is that proud rider whose hand and blade should be mourned? Tokhvar looked out from the height; through his foolishness, thorns sprang up on the meadow. He said to him: that is a fierce dragon who can bring a bird down from the sky with his breath. The one who bound Piran, your grandfather's ally, and broke two Turkish armies together. He orphaned many a young son, and crossed many mountains, rivers, and deserts. He left many a father without a son, and trampled the necks of fierce lions underfoot. He carried your brother off to Iran, crossing the Oxus though he saw no boat. They call him Giv; he is an elephant, no less, and in battle a Nile-like sea, no less. When you fit an arrow to the string and draw, your poplar shaft will not pierce his armor. In battle he wears Siyavash's own war-gear, and fears no arrowhead of any poplar shaft. Instead, aim your bow and arrow at his horse, so that his heavy mount may be wounded. Then he will go on foot and perhaps turn back, dragging his shield on his neck like a commander. Forud, the warrior, strung his bow, then set the grip of the crossbow against his palm. He shot an arrow into the chest of Giv's horse; Giv, the brave one, came down from his mount and turned back. Laughter rose from the top of White Mountain; the mockery gnawed away at Giv's pride. The champions all came before Giv, saying: thank God, O brave commander, that it is the horse that is wounded, not you; you can go on again, you are not bound. Bizhan, the lionhearted, came to Giv and spoke many words about the fight. He said: O father, lion-slayer of the fierce claw, where no elephant would go into battle beside you, how did a single rider see your back, you whose hand won every combat? By some Turk your horse is wounded, and you went off dazed and reeling like a drunkard. He answered: when my mount was killed, I would have given my head to him outright. Bizhan kept speaking his harsh words, and when Giv saw this, he too turned away. Giv flew into a rage at his son's taunts and struck him a lash across the head. He said to him: have you not heard from the wise, that thought must go along with your fighting? You have neither brains, nor judgment, nor wisdom; such talk deserves to be punished. Bizhan's heart ached from that harsh blow, and he swore an oath by the sustaining God: that I will not turn this saddle from the horse's back until I am slain avenging Zarasp. From there he went, his heart full of grief and his head full of vengeance, to Gostaham. He said: give me from your horses one steed, obedient to the hand, that climbs the heights with ease, so I may put on my war-gear, and it will be shown which is truly a man among men. A single Turk has gone up onto the mountain crest, and yet the whole host just stands and watches him. He answered thus: this is not the way; do not go chasing recklessly after disasters. Zarasp the commander, and Rivniz too, a warlord for whom the world counted as nothing, and your father, who could tear apart a raging elephant and thinks nothing of the turning heavens, all turned back from him, their hearts full of pain; no one could do anything against that granite mountain. Only a vulture's wings could be your guide there; otherwise, who could scale that fortress on foot? Bizhan said to him: do not break my heart, or I will tear my own shoulder and arm apart. I have sworn a solemn oath by the moon, by the world's Creator and the king's crown, that I will not turn my horse away from this Turk, though my time end as Zarasp's did. Gostaham said to him: then there is no path; your reason has no sense of this rashness. The world is all heights and hollows and plains; if you must cross from here, look, only a pack-horse carries my armor; two remain, and if this Turk kills one of them, I will never find another its equal in color, speed, strength, and stature. Bizhan said to him: to avenge Zarasp I will go on foot; I want no horse of yours at all. Gostaham answered him thus: I will not withhold from you even a single hair, no more, no less. Even if I had ten thousand steeds, every one with a bridle full of royal jewels, I would not begrudge you any of it, neither treasure, nor life, nor horse, nor sword. Go and look over all the horses one by one; choose whichever suits you best. Order them to saddle the one you wish; even if it is killed, so be it. He had one Rakhsh-like steed, wolf-limbed, with a tucked flank, tall and mighty. For the sake of the young world-seeking man, they threw a horse-armor over it. Giv's heart filled with smoke at those words, as he thought over Forud's marksmanship. He sent and summoned Gostaham, and told him many fine stories. He sent Siyavash's coat of mail to him, along with a royal helmet. Gostaham brought the battle-mail, and Bizhan put it on swift as the wind. He set his face toward White Mountain, as a man bent on war would do.

The young prince said to Tokhar: A famous warrior has just come into view. Look and see what his name is, this fighting man who is about to weep. Tokhar the reciter answered Khosrow: In all of Iran there is no equal to this one. He is the son of Giv, a brave man, victorious in battle like a lion. Giv has no other child but him; he is dearer to Giv than any treasure or possession. Now turn your hand toward your horse and hold back; you should not break the heart of Iran's king. And besides, he wears that armor, the very mail Giv fastened at his waist. No arrow or javelin can pierce it; better that he fight this man on foot. You are no match for him in combat; look, he has a blade like diamond in his grip. Forud shot an arrow at Bizhan's horse; you would have said no life was left in the beast. It fell, and Bizhan sprang clear of it, turning sword to sword toward the fight. He gave a shout: You bold horseman, stay and watch now how a lion fights. Don't you know that men of war, though horseless, come forward with an Indian sword in hand? You will see what I am, if you hold your ground; after this you will lose all taste for battle. When Bizhan would not turn back from Forud, Forud grew fierce in the contest. The lion loosed another arrow; the brave man raised his shield over his head. It tore the shield but did not reach the mail, and Bizhan did not turn his face away. When he had climbed that steep slope, he reached out and drew the sword from its sheath. The noble Forud turned back from him, and the whole fortress wall filled with clamor. Bizhan came running behind him, a sharp blade held in his fist. He struck the horse's armor and split it open, and the noble steed crashed to the ground. Forud reached the fortress gate, and the brave men inside quickly barred it shut. From the ramparts they rained down many stones, and Bizhan knew this was no place to linger. Bizhan cried out: You famous one, so brave on foot and on horseback, you turned back like this and felt no shame? A pity, Forud, on that courage and warrior's name. He came from the battlefield to Tus and said: Commander of the army, it is fitting that in battle such a brave man become renowned across a whole plain of lions. If solid granite were struck by his arrowhead, it would turn to water, and the sea itself would be his mine. The commander should not be amazed; no finer measure of skill than this can be found. The commander swore by the Creator: I will raise dust from this fortress up to the sun. To avenge the beloved Zarasp and the army, I will rise up and make a battlefield of it. I will make the body of that wicked Turk lifeless, and with his blood turn the stone's heart into coral.

When the shining sun vanished from sight, dark night marched its army across the sky. A thousand brave men held the fortress, and a rider came in from the direction of Kalat. They shut the fortress gates against this new threat; the sound of bells rose up, and the ringing of alarms. Jarireh lay down upon her honored bed, but that dark night was wedded to pain and grief. In her sleep she saw a fire that blazed high from the fortress, right before her noble son. It set the whole white mountain alight, burning both the servants and the fortress itself. Her heart filled with pain and she woke; her soul was heavy with sorrow and dread. She climbed the rampart and looked out at the world, and saw the whole mountain covered with armor and spears. Her face turned bloodless and her heart smoldered; she came to the pillow of the fortunate Forud. She said to him: Wake up, my son, for the stars have turned against us. The whole mountain is filled with enemies, and the fortress bristles with spears and armor. The warrior Forud replied to his mother: Why is your heart so clouded with grief? If my time has run out, do not count fate as giving more than what it grants. My father was slain in his youth; now my day has become like his day. His hour came at the hand of Goruy; now Bizhan comes rushing for my life. I will fight and not die except like a wild ram at bay; I will beg no mercy from the Iranians. He handed out helmets and armor to all his troops, and set a Roman helmet upon his own head. He bound a Roman coat of mail around his waist, and came forth with the royal bow in hand.

When the shining sun revealed its face and rose gracefully into the arch of the sky, from every side came the shouting of the chiefs and the swinging of heavy maces. The roar of the war drum mingled with the wail of the trumpet, the blast of the horn, and the Indian bell. Forud rode out from the fortress wall, and with him all the brave warriors of the Turks. With the dust of riders, with maces and arrows, the mountaintop turned into a sea of pitch. There was no open plain, no room to fight; the rocks and stones bewildered the horses. In this way, until the sun stood at noon, the army of the brave Forud dwindled. On slope and hollow they were all cut down; the young man's fortune had turned dark. The Iranians stared at him in wonder, for they had never seen such a raging lion. Not one Turkish rider was left at his side; he now faced the field of battle alone. He turned his reins and rode off alone, hurrying down from the heights toward the fortress. Rohham and Bizhan had set an ambush, riding up the slope and down. When Bizhan appeared in the hollow below, Forud's reins grew light and his stirrup pressed hard as he charged. Young Forud saw Bizhan's helmet, reached out and drew his sword from its sheath. Then the warrior Rohham came up from behind, roaring, an Indian blade clenched in his fist, and struck the brave man on the shoulder; his arm fell away from his body. With his arm and shoulder severed from him, he still spurred his horse and cried out. Bizhan reached him near the fortress and with a blow hamstrung his mount. Now on foot, he and a few of his servants were ruined by the hands of those warriors. He entered the fortress and the gate was quickly shut; so ended that famed lion of war, Forud. He went to the women who served his mother, and the veiled ones gathered him into their arms. In grief they laid him on the ivory couch; it was no day of crowns for the young king. His mother and the servants tore out their scented, musky hair by the roots. Beloved Forud lay dying; the whole couch was mourning, the whole fortress wept. When he could part his lips, he spoke: 'This tearing of hair is no wonder now.' 'Soon the Iranians will come, girded and ready to plunder the fortress clean.' 'They will take the serving women captive and lay waste the fortress and the mountain walls.' 'Whoever's heart grieves for me, let their love keep my soul aglow.' 'You must all go up onto the wall and cast yourselves down to the ground,' 'so that nothing is left for Bizhan, and I too will not linger here, save a little.' 'The one who kills me is his own pain in body and soul; what are my servants and treasure worth to him?' He said this, his cheeks turned pale, and his spirit departed in sorrow and pain. This drunken wheel of heaven is like a juggler who plays his tricks with seventy hands. One moment with the dagger, one with the sword, one with the wind, one with the mist, one moment in the grip of some unworthy fool, one moment freed from pain and hardship. One moment it gives you throne, treasure, and crown; the next, grief, toil, disgrace, and the pit. Everyone alive must swallow this; I am heartsick now that I have grown empty-handed. If a wise man had never been born, he would never have seen the world so hot and cold. One must live blind and thwarted; over such a life one must only weep. In the end, dust is his pillow. What a pity, that heart, that wisdom, that noble way of his. The serving women climbed to the top of the fortress and threw themselves all down to the ground. Jarira herself kindled a fire and burned all the treasures to ash. Then she took a sword in hand and went into the stable of the Arab horses. She slit their bellies and cut their hamstrings, weeping tears of blood and sweat. She came to blessed Forud's bedside with a dagger blue as water in her hand. She pressed both her cheeks against her son's face, tore open her own belly, and gave up her life beside him. The Iranians broke into the fortress and, all girded, set to plunder. When Bahram drew near that wall, his heart was torn to pieces with grief. He said to the Iranians: 'This one died a far more wretched, more pitiful death than his father.' 'Siyavash's killer was no servant of his, and no mother lay slain at his bedside.' The whole fortress was ablaze from end to end, every home and hearth torn down and burned. He said to the Iranians: 'Fear the Creator and the turning of the days.' 'The hand of fate reaches far and long; it will not turn kindly toward the unjust man.' 'Have you no shame now before Kay Khosrow, who spoke so gently with Tus,' 'who sent you to avenge Siyavash and gave you so much counsel and advice?' 'When he learns of his brother's blood, all shame and honor will be cut short for him.' 'From Rohham and hot-tempered Bizhan, no fine deed ever comes into the world.' At that very moment the commander Tus arrived, beating the war drums along the road to Kalat, with Gudarz and Giv the warriors, and a heavy host of Iran's champions. The general marched toward Mount Sepid and from there came near to the great throng. When he came to the bedside of that pitifully slain youth, cast down in disgrace upon the couch beside his mother, on one side Bahram sat, his eyes brimming, seated at the bed and full of rage; on the other side, Zanga son of Shavaran, with the warriors gathered around him. The young man lay on that ivory couch like a tree, his face like the moon, his stature tall as teak. Like Siyavash he lay sleeping on the golden throne, with armor, sword, mace, and belt. Gudarz and Giv wept bitterly over him, and great men too, like Gorgin and brave Bahram. Tus's face filled with the blood of his liver, grieving for Forud and for his own son. For rashness brings you a harvest of regret; do not sow the seed of rashness in your garden. Thus Gudarz spoke to Tus and Giv and to the famed ones and the brave champions: 'Rashness is no work for a commander; a general who acts rashly is a bad one.' 'A youth like this, of the royal seed, with such glory, such height, such neck and waist,' 'you gave to the wind through haste and temper, along with Zarasp, that general of Nowzar's line.' 'Through haste Rivniz was taken captive; nothing is left untouched by our evil luck.' 'Skill without wisdom in a hot-tempered heart is like a blade gone blunt with rust.' When they had said all this, tears poured from his eyes, and out of temper he flew into a rage. He answered: 'From ill fortune, much toil and hardship comes upon men.' He ordered a royal tomb to be built on the ridge of that mountain. Beneath him they laid a golden throne, with gold-woven brocade and a golden belt. They adorned his kingly body and called for roses, musk, camphor, and wine. They dried his head with camphor and anointed his face with perfume, rosewater, and musk. They laid him on the throne and turned away; so passed that lionhearted, proud-necked king. They laid the proud Zarasp and Rivniz too beside the young king. The general wept upon that camphor-white beard, and rivers of blood poured from his eyes. So it is: however long we linger, neither the proud elephant remains nor the lion. The heart of stone and anvil dreads death; no leaf, no fruit escapes it.

For three days he waited in his tent; on the fourth the trumpet blew. He raised the army and sounded the drums and pipes; from mountain to mountain the earth turned black as ebony. Whoever he saw from the army of Turan, he killed and threw the body onto the road. He left the borderlands ruined and undone, and marched on in triumph toward Kaseh Rud. He set his army down in that region, and the ground vanished beneath the tents. Word reached the Turks that the Iranian army had come marching toward Kaseh Rud. From among the Turks came a bold young man, Palashan, a vigilant, warlike champion. He came to observe the army and to count the banners of its commanders. In the camp there stood a mountain, high and set apart from the crowd. Giv and Bijan sat there together, talking over every matter, great and small. The banner of Palashan of Turan's army came into their view along the road. When brave Giv saw it from afar, he reached out and drew his sword from its sheath. He said: Palashan the lion has come, a renowned and daring horseman. I will go and cut his head from his body, or bring him bound to this gathering. Bijan said to him: Since the king gave me a robe of honor for this battle, By his command I must fasten my belt and fight against warlike Palashan. Brave Giv said to Bijan: Do not rush into the claws of this fierce lion. You must not fail to hold your own against him and make this day of battle hard for me. Palashan is like a lion in the meadow; he hunts nothing but seasoned warriors. Bijan said to him: Do not shame me with such words before the world's ruler. Give me Siyavash's armor for the fight, then watch me hunt the leopard. Brave Giv handed him that coat of mail, and Bijan fastened its clasps. He mounted a swift steed and rode onto the plain, spear in hand. Palashan had brought down a deer and was roasting its flesh over a fire. He was eating while his horse grazed and wandered; Palashan sat with his bow on his arm. When his horse saw Bijan's horse from afar, it let out a cry and snorted. Palashan knew a rider had come, and he made ready for combat. He shouted loudly at Bijan: I am the one who slays lions and binds demons. Say openly, what is your name? For fate will soon weep over you. The brave one said: I am Bijan; in battle I am an elephant, a body of bronze. My grandfather is the war-lion, my father the hero Giv; right now you will taste my strength. On the day of calamity, in the heat of battle, you sit on the mountain like a wolf craving carrion. You feed on smoke and ash and blood; the time has come to drag your army to the plain. Palashan gave no answer at all; he spurred that mighty steed on like the wind. The two riders clashed with their spears and raised a dark cloud of dust. The tips of their spears shattered against each other, and the heroes reached for their swords. In the blows the blades were hacked to pieces, and the two trembled like branches of a tree. Their horses were drenched in sweat, and both champions grew weary at once. The two proud lions, both masters of war, drew up their heavy maces again. So it went, until Bijan let out a roar, his heavy mace lifted on his shoulder. He struck the middle of mighty Palashan and shattered every bone of his spine. His body toppled from the horse's back; his helmet and armor turned upside down. Bijan sprang down from his mount like dust and cut the warrior's head from his body. He took the armor, head, and horse of that famous man and turned toward his father. Giv's heart had been full of pain, wondering how that whirlwind fared on the day of battle. He stood on the lookout, roaring and burning, waiting for when Bijan would come along the road. The young son came along the road with the head, armor, and horse of that champion. He brought them and laid them before his father, who said: Be victorious, my son. They set off joyfully from that place and turned toward the royal pavilion. He brought before the commander the head, and the horse with its armor and helmet. The champion was so overjoyed at the news that it was as if his soul would take flight. He said to him: O son, the backbone of the army, chief of the renowned and crown of the king, May you always live happily and high of spirit; may the evil of the wicked stay far from you.

After this, word reached Afrasiab that the borders of Turan had turned to a flooding sea. An army had poured toward Kaseh Rud; the land had gone black with vengeance for Siavash. The commander said to Piran, his chief: 'Kay Khosrow has finally spoken his hidden mind.' 'We had better go to meet this challenge, all of us with banners raised and war drums beating.' 'Otherwise, when the Persian army comes, we will see neither the bright sun nor the moon.' 'Go, gather troops from every direction; there is no time now for long speeches.' But from this side a fierce wind rose up, so that no one in Iran could even think of battle. A violent storm cloud swept in like dust; in the cold, lips froze against the teeth. The royal pavilion and the tents turned to ice, and snow drew its cover over the mountaintops. For a whole week no one saw the face of the plain; the entire land vanished under the snow. Food, sleep, and rest all grew scarce; you would think the surface of the earth had turned to stone. No one remembered the day of battle; men slaughtered their warhorses and ate them. Many people and animals perished; not one hand or arm was left with any strength. On the eighth day the sun climbed high, and the whole world became like a rippling sea of water. The commander gathered his troops together, and there was talk of the coming day of battle. 'Here the army has been ruined by these hardships; it would be fitting if we moved from this battlefield.' 'May no harm come to these lands, whether Kalat, Sepidkuh, or Kaseh Rud.' From the proud champions, Bahram spoke: 'This must not be hidden from the commander.' 'You silence us with fine words, yet you are refighting the war of Siavash's son.' 'Do not twist a straight matter into something crooked; look at one single life, and how many have already been lost.' 'You still do not know what evil lies ahead; right now the buffalo is still inside its hide.' The commander replied: 'By the sacred fire, no one was more famous than warlike Zarasp.' 'Look at the army: who was like Rivniz in courage and in noble bearing?' 'Was not Forud killed though he was innocent? It was fated; what happened, happened.' 'For me, his cup was full of wine and milk; but that young man's words from the height came like arrows.' 'Now let us not dwell on the past; whether he was killed justly or unjustly, it is done.' When Giv, son of Gudarz, received a robe of honor from the king, it was to burn down that mountain of firewood in their path. 'Now is the time for that burning, to set the sky ablaze with fire.' 'Perhaps then the army's road will open, and the troops will have a way to pass through.' Giv said to him: 'This task is no hardship; and even if it is, no hardship comes without reward.' Bizhan grew troubled at these words: 'I do not agree with what has been said.' 'I should not sit idle while you, a young man, no, while you in your age gird your belt for this task.' 'We were raised in toil and hardship, and never once complained about it.' 'I am the one who should take this work in hand; it is not right that you toil while I sit at ease.' Giv said to him: 'This is something I prepared myself; I raised my head to take on this task.' 'Now, my son, it is your time to shine, not the time for old age and mercy.' 'Do not grieve at all about my going, for I will burn a mountain of hard rock with my breath.' With great difficulty he passed the pass of Kaseh Rud; the whole world was nothing but the misery of snow and slush. When he reached that mountain of firewood, he could not tell its height from its width. From the tip of an arrow he kindled a fire, cast it into the mountain, and the wood burned. For three weeks there was no passing that fire, because of the searing flames, the wind, and the smoke. On the fourth week the army began to cross, as both the water and the fire began to settle. When the commander's army had gathered around him, from the fire they set out toward Gorugerd. The army advanced as was proper, and pitched their pavilions across every mountain and plain. They arranged everything as they should, and sent out scouts on every side. Gorugerd was the seat of Tazhav, a horseman with the fury of a lion. He kept his herds of horses in that place, spread across the land from mountain to mountain. News came that the Persian army had arrived: 'The herds must be moved aside, off the road.' He sent a warrior in haste to Afrasiab's herdsman. His name was Kabudeh, a capable man, and in his capability truly indispensable. He told him: 'When the sky grows dark, go from here and let no one see your face.' 'Find out how large the Persian army is, and which champions carry banners and helms.' 'From here we will fall on them by night, and turn the whole mountain into a battlefield on the plain.' Kabudeh came like a black cloud of dust, in the dark night, near the Persian army. The scout that dark night was Bahram, whose lasso was a snare even for an elephant's head. Kabudeh's horse let out a neigh, and Bahram in the camp pricked up his ears. He strung his bow and pressed his thighs, and that heavy war camel of a horse sprang forward. He loosed an arrow and did not open his lips; Kabudeh was not at all visible in the dark. The shot struck the belt of the king's herdsman; Kabudeh's color kept turning black. He fell from his horse and begged for mercy; Bahram said to him: 'Tell me the truth.' 'Who was it here that sent you? Which of these great men did you come to spy on?' He said to Bahram: 'If you grant me mercy, I will tell you whatever you ask about the matter.' 'My lord, Tazhav is the one who sent me; I am his servant.' 'Do not kill me, and I will show you the road to the place where he has his encampment.' Bahram said to him: 'Tazhav against me is like an ox pitted against a tearing lion.' He cut off his head with a dagger, low, and tied it to the strap of his royal saddle. He brought it to the camp and threw it down like something worthless: he was no famous hero, no true warrior horseman.

When the sun raised its banner over the sky, the edge of night turned purple from its blade. The heart of the warrior grew heavy; he sensed that trouble was coming his way. The rooster and the lark began to cry, but Kabudeh did not come to Tazhav. He called together the army that was with him, and from there he marched his forces swiftly on. Tazhav the commander set out with his troops, and a cry went up from the Iranian watchtower: that an army of Turks had come to battle, a commander fierce as a crocodile, his banner a leopard. From among the proud heroes, Giv rode out to face him, with a few brave champions at his side. He grew angry and asked the man his name, and said: You there, you seeker of a fight, you came to war with only this many men; from the open plain you have walked into the crocodile's jaws. The man answered: O famous one, now you will see the battle of a lion in the saddle. In this world my name is Tazhav; with every breath men grant me what I wish. By blood my origin is Iranian, descended from champions and the line of lions. Now I am the warden of this throne and court, the signet of the great and the king's own son in law. Giv said to him: Do not say what you just said, for such words will only stain your honor. Whoever leaves Iran to settle in Turan, his drink can only be blood or bitter poison. If you are a border lord and the king's son in law, why have you no larger army than this? With so few troops, do not seek a fight; do not rush headlong against brave men. For this skilled and renowned warrior will bring the head of your warden low. If you would give the order to your army and ride to Iran, into the king's presence, and go now before the commander Tus, to speak your case and hear his answer, I will win for you from him robes of honor and riches, servants and a well adorned horse. The deceitful Tazhav said: O brave one, no one can bring my banner down. Here I have the signet and the throne, servants and treasure, crown and army. The same lands and a kingship like Afrasiab's, no one in Iran could see even in a dream. Servants, and herds of mares turned loose to graze on the plain of Gorugerd. Do not judge me by this small army of mine; seek me out with a mace astride my saddle. Today, with this army, I will make you regret ever having come. Then Bizhan said to his noble father: O renowned and battle scarred champion, proud and clear eyed hero, in old age you are not the man you were in youth. Why all this advice to Tazhav? Why such affection and bond with a Turk like him? Now the maces and daggers must be drawn; we must tear open their hearts and their minds. He spurred his horse and a great cry went up; they slung their clubs and daggers on their shoulders. A dark dust rose up from among them, so thick that the sun disappeared. The world turned black as the storm clouds of winter; they could see neither star nor shining moon. At the heart of the army was brave Giv, sweeping the very light out of the world. At the front was Bizhan of the fierce grip, to whom a battlefield felt like a feast. On the other side stood Tajav with his crown, who had the fury of a tearing lion. His warriors were all fine men and lions, who never grew weary of the fight. Not much of that day had passed before that Turk grew sick of the battle. Two thirds of the army of Turan lay slain, and the fortune of that Turk was overturned. The bold Tajav turned and fled, with Bizhan son of Giv behind him like a lion. Roaring and seething, lance in hand, you would think he was a raging, drunken lion. He drove a lance into Tajav's waist, and in that moment all strength left Tajav. The lance caught in the links of his Roman mail; it twisted and the knot of the clasp gave way. He cast aside the lance and reached out his hand, like a leopard springing on a wild goat in the mountains. The way a falcon snatches a lark, he snatched away Tajav's precious crown, the crown Afrasiab himself had set on his head, and which never left his thoughts, asleep or awake. So Tajav galloped his horse toward the fortress, with Bizhan behind him like blazing fire. When Aspanuy drew near the fortress, she came out weeping, her face wet with tears, crying: 'Out of spite you have turned your back and abandoned me, worthless, in this fortress.' 'It would be right to seat me behind you and not leave me on this road to the enemy.' The proud Tajav's heart burned for her, and his face flared up like fire. Aspanuy on high, Tajav below, he gave her a stirrup to climb into the saddle. He set her behind him like the rising moon, and the horse beneath them heaved up, groaning. He galloped like the wind with Aspanuy, and they set their faces toward Turan. For a while Tajav's warhorse ran, but no strength was left in horse or man. Then Tajav said to his beloved: 'This has become a hard business, my lovely companion.' 'This warhorse has broken down; the enemy is behind me and a cave lies ahead.' 'If, far from here, Bizhan overtakes me, I will fall to the will of a malicious foe.' 'You are not his enemy at all; stay here, and let me drive this mount on alone.' Espanuy climbed down from her horse, while Tazhav's face was flooded with grief. His horse, now unburdened, gathered speed, and Bizhan son of Giv slowed his own pursuit. When he saw that moon-faced Espanuy, with cheeks like rose petals and hair full of musk, he set her behind him on his horse and turned back toward the commander's army. He came in joy to the court of Tus, and from the court rose the sound of the war drums, for the vigilant, battle-hungry lion of a rider had come charging back from the meadow with his prize. The commander and his warrior champions turned their faces toward the ruined fortress. After that they moved on toward the herds that lay scattered across the plain of the Turks. Each man took a lasso in hand, just as fighting men prepare themselves. The horses' heads bent down under the loop of the rope, and all at once the army was made ready. The riders of Iran, full of rage and fury, settled into Tazhav's former place. Tazhav, stricken and with both eyes brimming with tears, came before Afrasiab. He said: The commander Tus has arrived, with a vast army, war elephants, and drums. Palashan and those famous men, their heads are now brought low into the dust. They set fire to the whole borderland, and threw the herds into utter confusion. When Afrasiab heard these words, he grew grieved and began searching for a remedy. The king said to Piran son of Viseh: I told you to gather troops from every side. Your judgment turned to delay through laziness; age has made you heavy and faint of heart. Now no fortress remains, no horse, no man; one can no longer stay settled in this land. Many of our kin and allies were taken captive, and many a fortunate man was wounded. This is no day for delay; the world has closed in tight around the watchful man. The world-ruler Piran, in haste, went out from Afrasiab's presence. From every border he summoned fighting men, handed out weapons and money, and marched the army out. When the commander came out from the province, he assigned each warrior his position. To the right wing went Barman and Tazhav, riders who could stand fierce against a lion. And Nastihan, that hero, took the left wing, one in whose grip a lion was but a lamb. The world filled with the wail of trumpets, with the roar of drums and the clang of Indian bells. The sky turned all red, yellow, and violet from the mass of spears and the many-colored banners. An army of a hundred thousand warriors, every one bent toward the battle. From sea to sea there was no open path left, so packed it was with horses, elephants, camels, and men. The army moved forward in group after group; you could no longer make out the plain, the sea, or the mountains. Piran ordered them: march off the main road, and take the shortest way from here. These glorious, famous warriors of ours must not get any warning of our approach. So that suddenly, upon that band of men, I can bring down this dense army like a mountain. Suddenly he sent out his scouts, alert and searching out how the world stood. He turned onto the road at speed, and the fighter headed toward Gorugerd. Serakhs lies near Tus, and from Baward the sound of the war drums rose. The scouts brought back their report and told Piran, one by one, in secret, that the enemy were all drinking wine and drunk, night and day with a full cup in hand. We saw no scout riding the road, and no thought of battle against the army of Turan. When Piran heard this, he called his champions and spoke at length about the army. He said: never before have we had such an advantage in battle against the army of Iran.

He picked from that famous army thirty thousand sword-wielding riders. They set out at midnight, with no drum, no horn, no clamor. When Piran, the army's commander, led on, seven leagues lay between the heroes. First they reached the herds that grazed loose across the plain of Turan. They seized many and killed many too; nothing stood before their evil fortune. Many herdsmen and shepherds were slain, and the star of the Iranians turned dark. From there they moved toward the Iranian camp, sweeping in like a black storm of dust. The Iranians were all drunk; some sat with their belts loosened. Inside his tent Giv was awake, and the commander Gudarz was alert. A roar rose and the crash of axe-blows; the fierce Giv sprang up in alarm. Before the great tent stood a horse, armored and ready on its feet. He raged at himself like a leopard; he was ashamed to waste time on foot. He came and set his foot to the horse, and shot from that place like the wind. He reached the commander's tent and saw the sky darkened by the dust of an army. He said: Rise, an army has come; dust has risen from the battlefield. From there he went to his father, an ox-headed mace gripped in his hand. He circled the camp like smoke, rousing whoever was still sober. He picked a quarrel with Bizhan: This is a field of war, not a vineyard for wine. Then he came out to the fight, and along the way a few riders hurried after him. With that small force they drew the line against an army of Turks thick as ants and locusts. Gudarz looked in every direction: army had closed in upon army. The sleepers woke in panic at the uproar; a cloud rose and rained down arrows. The drunk man's pillow soft beneath his head, with mace and club and hot sword above him. When dawn lifted its head from the House of Leo, brave Giv looked out over the army. He saw the whole plain covered with slaughtered Iranians; he saw their waking fortune overturned. Banners torn, war-drums toppled, the faces of the living dark as ebony. The commander looked and saw no champions; he found none of the army's brave men left. The whole battlefield was slain from end to end, their bodies soaked in blood. Sons left fatherless, fathers left sonless, the whole mighty army turned upside down. In helplessness they turned their faces away, abandoning pavilion and tent. No drums, no army, no baggage or gear; the whole left wing wounded, the whole right wing too. In this state the army withdrew toward Kaseh-Rud, stripped bare, unraveled thread and warp. So this swift-turning dome of heaven works: sometimes it grants joy, sometimes pain. The riders of Turan came behind Tus, hearts full of hatred, chiefs full of regret. Maces rained down as if from a cloud, upon armor and helmet and mail from behind. No one could hold firm in the fighting; the champions made a fortress of the mountain. Horses and warriors were spent; not one had sense, strength, or steadiness left. In this way the army turned back, worn out by battle and the long road. The commander went from the plain up to the mountain, freed from grief in the fight with the Turks. The Iranians were greatly diminished; a cry of anguish rose from their midst. All who survived were wounded and bound; the dead are gone, now one must weep for the wounded. No crown, no throne, no pavilion; no horse, no warriors left standing. No thriving land, no men of action, and no one to care for those wounded ones. How many fathers wept over their sons, how many hearts were scorched over the wounded. Such is the way of this world, the world that hides its own deeds from you. It plays with you behind a curtain, while outwardly it pretends it needs you not. You came from the wind, you will go with the dust; how can you know what they mean to do with you? We are long in captivity and gripped by greed; we cannot tell the plain truth from the hidden. Two thirds of the Iranians had been killed; the rest turned back from battle, wounded. The commander went mad from the fighting; his heart grew a stranger to reason. In the camp the army longed for wine, tables, and feasting in the place of war. World-experienced Gudarz, in his old age, left without son or grandson, without land or lineage. No food for the wounded, no physician; everywhere was grief and bloody tears. The world-wise ones came before him, broken-hearted, seeking a way out. He set a lookout on the mountaintop, watching toward the enemy's mass. He sent scouts out in every direction, hoping to find some cure for this pain. He ordered one of the famous Iranians to gird his waist tight. To bring the king word of all this: what ruin the army's commander had brought. What an evil day had come upon the Iranians; the chiefs' loss had surpassed all fortune's gifts. The messenger carried word to the king that those days of glory had gone dark. When the brave king heard these words, he boiled over, and his heart burned with grief. He was already full of pain over his brother, and this heaped the army's grief upon that pain. He set his tongue to cursing Tus, from dark night until the cock's crow.

He called the wise scribe before him, his heart heavy with grief that he poured out. He wrote a letter, his eyes full of tears, filled with pain and anger over his brother. One copy went to Fariborz, son of King Kavus, another to the noble leaders of the army. The letter opened, as custom and faith require, with praise. In the name of the Lord of sun and moon, who grants goodness its power. He created the world, place, and time, made both the ant and the mighty elephant. From Him come victory and patience; good and bad, joy and beauty all come from Him. He gave wisdom, life, a strong body, greatness, crown, and a lofty throne. No head escapes His bond; to one He gives all glory and majesty. To another He gives misfortune, need, sorrow, pain, and hardship. From the shining sun to the dark earth, I see everything as just, coming from the holy God. Tus set out with the Kaviani banner and forty gold-shod men from the army. I sent him to Turan with the troops, and my brother was destroyed by an old grudge. May Iran never have such a chief, nor ever such an army commander. Alas for my brother, young Forud, the head of the famous and the pillar of warriors. I was already mournful and weeping over my father's murder, scorched by that pain for so long. Now I must weep for my brother too; I no longer know who is my enemy or my friend. I told him: do not take the road through Charam, do not go near Kalat and Sepid-kuh. Forud is on that road with an army; he is of the same blood, a brave fighter. He does not know whose men these are, that they are the army of Iran, even if scattered. From that mountain he will surely wage war, and the fate of many great men will end. Alas for such a royal-blooded hero, whom the worthless Tus threw to the wind. Even before this, when he was general, ill fortune came from King Kavus. In the middle of battle sleep overtakes him; without wine he grows impatient and rash. He has every skill at hand; may his soul not stay so darkened. The moment you read this letter, drive food, rest, and sleep far from your heart. Quickly bring Tus back to his place; do not turn from my command or make your own plan. As commander and general, gold-shod one, you keep the Kaviani banner yourself. From that gathering, let the proud Gudarz be your counselor in every matter. Do not rush into battle at all; stay away from wine and do not measure out sleep. Do not seek combat hastily at the start; wait until the enemy is worn down and weakened. Let Giv lead you in battle, for he has glory and stature and the claws of a leopard. Gather war supplies from every side; let no thought of feasting come to you. He set the royal seal on the letter and told the messenger: get on the road. Do not rest at all, night or day; at each station take a fresh horse. In this way the messenger came to those renowned commanders. The letter-bearer went to Fariborz and handed him the king's letter. Fariborz called Tus and the champions and spoke at length about what had happened. He summoned the famous Giv and Gudarz, the riders and heroes of that border. When he read out the king's letter, the world was like a tree bearing new fruit. The great men and lions of Iran all called down blessings on the king. Tus brought that honored banner, along with the war drums, the elephants, and the gold-shod men. They brought them to Fariborz and said: the worthy has found its worthy match. May your fortune be victorious all year long, may all your days be like Now-ruz. Tus left and took with him the Nowzari men, the war-riders and the troops. He came to the king from the field of war, making no delay at all on the way. He kissed the ground before the king, but the prince did not look at him at all. The king opened his lips with reproach and shamed Tus before that assembly. Then he said to him: You of evil mark, may your name be least among the proud. Do you not fear the pure Lord of the world? Did you feel no shame or fear before the heroes? Did I not say, do not take the road to Charam? You went and handed my heart to grief. First you set out to avenge me, and then you cut down the line of Siyavash. My proud warrior brother Forud, whose like never existed in this age. You killed the one who, in battle, wished you and your whole army well. And after you went to that battlefield, you did nothing but revel and feast. There is no place for you in the city; chains and the madhouse suit you. You have no business among noble men, since you have no sober judgment. You deserve nails, shackles, and irons, not a crown, a diadem, and wine. The lineage of Manuchehr and your white beard gave you hope of staying alive. Otherwise I would have ordered your head, you ill-wisher, severed from your body. Go; the prison is your home forever, and that same evil nature is your keeper. He drove him from his presence and ordered him bound; with those chains he tore the root of joy from his heart.

Fariborz placed the crown upon his head, for he was both champion and son of the king. Then he gave the order to Rooham to prove his worth and make his name known. He said to him: go and present yourself before Piran, carrying a message from me to that champion. Tell him: the way of the turning sky has always been like this, full of pain and tenderness. It raises one man up to the lofty heights and casts another down into misery and ruin. Whoever seeks out trouble is worthy of it, but a night raid is not the deed of true men. Brave men do not launch night raids, not one who trusts his heavy mace. If you want delay, we will wait; if your mind is set on battle, we will give you battle. Rooham the warrior left the presence of Fariborz and carried off the message and the letter. A scout came and met him on the road, and asked him his name and where he was from. Rooham said to him: I am a fighter, skilled, watchful, and steady as stone. I bring the message of Fariborz, son of King Kavus, to Piran here on this battlefield. From the scouting party a horseman swift as dust rode off and repeated all that was said. That Rooham son of Goodarz had come from that battlefield toward the champion of the army. Piran ordered that they bring him in, welcomed with open heart and cheerful face. The eloquent Rooham went before him, wary in secret of that ill-wisher's schemes. When Piran saw him he treated him kindly, greeted him and seated him on the throne. Rooham brought his hidden message into the open and told him the words of Fariborz. Piran said to the warrior Rooham: this war cannot be counted a small thing. It was you who struck first in this war; we saw no patience or good sense from Toos. He came into our land like a savage wolf, killing without fear both small and great. How much he slaughtered, how much he plundered, treating this land the same, good and bad alike. Now they have received the reward for that evil, however fast they rushed with vengeance. Now if you are the champion of the army, ask of me whatever you wish. If you want a month's delay, not a single horseman will come out to fight. But if you seek battle, I am ready at the edge: draw up and prepare the ranks of war. Once you have counted this one month as your wish, you must cross out of the land of Turan. Drive your army back toward your own border, and see for yourselves the full worth of your position. Otherwise set your hands to war, and do not ask for time or delay after this. He prepared a robe of honor for Rooham, one fitting his good name. The warrior Rooham brought the reply back to Fariborz, just as he had carried it out. When Fariborz gained his day of respite, he reached out on every side like a lion's claw. He began to open the mouths of the treasure sacks and set his whole mind on giving freely. They marched out and drew up the army in order, equipping it fully with everything needed.

When the new moon rose and the hour of war arrived, they broke their truce and cast aside all thought of honor and shame. A roar went up from both armies, and all at once they marched toward the battlefield. From the endless blare of trumpets and Indian bells, the very sky seemed torn from its place. From the manes of horses, from hands and reins, from maces, swords, bows, and spears, the din swelled. You would think the world had become the jaws of a raging dragon, or that the sky had crashed flat onto the earth. Not even a gnat could find a way through, so thick were the maces, blades, spears, and shields. On the right wing stood Giv, son of Gudarz, a chief, a priest, and the great lord of the borderland. On the left was Ashkash of the fierce grip, who in battle drove rivers of blood before him. The champions stood with King Fariborz, son of Kavus, the royal banner raised at his back in the center. Fariborz said to his own army: our skills have stayed hidden too long. For just one day let us fight like lions and make the world close in tight on our enemy. Or else, over this disgrace, mace and Roman helmet will laugh at this army forever. They loosed a fierce rain of arrows, like an autumn wind that strips the trees bare. You would think the air was filled with vultures, and the earth trampled flat beneath elephants' feet. There was no room in the sky even for a bird, so thick were the arrows, the maces, the army's dust. The flashing of diamond-bright blades cut through the swirling dust like fire. You would think the ground had turned the face of a Zanzibari, and every star had become the heart of a war elephant. From the mass of spears, maces, and sharp swords, a Day of Resurrection seemed to rise across the world. From the heart of the army Giv rode out before the ranks, shouting, foam upon his lips. Beside him stood the famed warriors of Gudarz's house, on whom hung the whole balance of gain and loss. With sword and spear they clashed, striking sparks of fire from the iron. When Gudarz's fight with Piran grew savage, he cut down some nine hundred of Piran's kin. When Lahhak and Farshidvard saw the dust rise up from that vast army, they launched a charge straight at Giv, at those mace-bearers and brave lions. The chieftains rained arrows from their bows down upon those armored champions. It came to this: no one could see the country's face, for the dead so covered the earth it vanished from sight. Body was piled upon body, and no one gave up the ground he held. Human said to Farshidvard: we must strike at the enemy's center. We must make Fariborz flee from that center and slip away behind his army. Then the fight against the right wing will be easy, and that battlefield and its stores will fall into our hands. Then they pressed on to the heart of the army, toward Fariborz, son of King Kavus, to make war. The champion fled from Human; defeat fell upon the ranks of the warriors. The proud commanders gave up their ground; they no longer trusted their own judgment. One by one they surrendered their positions to the enemy; not one of Iran's heroes held his place. The drums and banners were left behind; their eyes turned dark from the bitter struggle. The brave men turned their backs on the enemy; from that battle, only sorrow filled their hands. The drums, banners, and spears were toppled; stirrup could not be told from rein. When the enemy swarmed in from every side, Fariborz withdrew to the foot of the mountain. Of the Iranians, whoever still lived, one would have to weep over such a life. Only Godarz and Giv held their ground, along with many famous heroes of the army. When Godarz, son of Keshvad, looked to the center and saw the banner of Fariborz, son of King Kavus, and did not see it, nor see the heroes of the host, his heart blazed up like fire. He turned his rein toward the road of flight; an uproar rose among Godarz's men. Giv said to him: 'Old commander, you have seen much of mace and club and arrow.' 'If you flee from Piran, then dust should be poured over my head first.' 'No one remains alive in the world, not the brave, not the seasoned great ones.' 'There is no escape from death for you or me; no monster is more relentless than death, delay it as you may.' 'Since this harsh day has come upon us, it is better they see your face than your back.' 'Let us turn from this spot back into battle, and bring no shame on the house of Keshvad.' 'Have you not heard from the wise that old tale, told from the sayings of ancient days,' 'that when two brothers stand back to back, the body becomes a stone the mountain cannot crush?' 'You have seventy warrior sons, many honored and renowned from a praised lineage.' 'With our blades we will break the hearts of enemies, and even a mountain we will tear up by the roots.' When Godarz heard Giv's words and looked at that wakeful, helmeted head of the hero, he grew ashamed of his own wisdom and counsel, and planted his feet firmly in place. Goraza and Gostaham came forth, together with Borteh and Zangeh the hero. They swore heavy oaths, in which there was no breaking of the vow: that they would not turn their faces from this battlefield, even if blood from the mace ran in streams. From there they spurred their steeds hard and wielded their maces in the fight. On every side, countless troops were slain; the times kept turning toward evil. Old Gudarz spoke to Bizhan like this: go quickly from here and get the message through. Ride toward Faribarz, and bring me the royal Kaviani banner. Perhaps Faribarz himself, with that banner, will come and turn the enemy's face pale. When Bizhan heard this, he spurred his horse and came on like a bolt of lightning. He reached Faribarz and said: why are you keeping the army hidden here? Turn your reins like the heroes and move; don't linger on this hilltop any longer. If you won't come yourself, then give me the banner, the riders, and these gleaming swords. When Bizhan spoke his words to Faribarz, Faribarz did not join wisdom to his heart. He shouted at Bizhan: get away! You act too rashly, still new to war. The king gave me this banner and this army, this rank of champion, this throne and crown. The banner is not for Bizhan, son of Giv; and yet there is no braver man in all the world. Bizhan seized a gleaming sword and struck it suddenly across the banner's shaft. He cut the Kaviani banner in two, and carried off one half from among them. He set out to bring it to the army; when the Turks saw the banner on the road, a whole force of lion-hearted warriors turned their faces toward Bizhan. They drew their maces and gleaming swords to fight for that Kaviani banner. Human said: that is the banner in which the strength of Iran resides. If we take the gleaming banner in our grip, we will make the whole world close in on their king. Swift as dust, Bizhan strung his bow and rained arrows down upon them. The whole army scattered from his arrows, and it became a feast for the ravening wolf. The riders who were with him spoke to Giv and to Gostaham: we must ride against the Turanian army and snatch the crown and throne from them. Many spear-bearers, brave chiefs among Iran's warriors, went forth. They killed many of their riders, and the famed Bizhan came in along the road. The army closed in around the banner, and the sky turned dark with the riders' dust. Once again they rose up and set a fresh battle on that plain. Before the army Rivniz was killed, who was dear to Kavus as his own life, a crowned king's younger son, Faribarz's hope and his father's very soul. His head and crown fell into the dust, and many a noble tore his garments in grief. After that Giv let out a cry: O renowned ones, O brave heroes! No one like him was ever on this battlefield: young, proud, a king's own son. The grandson of old Kavus, lord of the world; three men were killed, cruelly and for nothing. Forud son of Siyavash, along with Rivniz; what greater tragedy could the world hold? If the crown of that youth who never reached his prime falls to the enemy, my soul will burn with shame. If I move even a step from this field, the whole Persian army will break. That royal crown must not fall to the Turks in the line of battle. It would pile shame upon shame: losing this crown and the killing of Rivniz too. So it was that Piran, the proud, brave commander, heard the shout of Giv. A fresh battle broke out among the troops over that famous crown. On every side, soldiers were slain; the fortune of the proud warriors turned dark. Bahram the hero charged in like a lion and made an assault on them with his spear. On the tip of his lance he lifted the crown away, and both armies stood amazed at him. It went on this way until dusk fell, and eyes grew blind from the darkness. Again and again they clashed in fury, hammering down on one another's heads. Of the house of Godarz only eight remained alive; the rest lay fallen on that field. And of Giv's line some twenty five, men worthy of the crown and the treasury. And of the line of Kavus, seventy men, horsemen and lions on the day of battle. Apart from Rivniz, that crowned head, it is fitting that he not be counted among them. About three hundred of Afrasiyab's kin, whose fortune had fallen asleep. Of Piran's relatives, some nine hundred riders were lost on this day of war. Yet the upper hand and the day belonged to Piran, thanks to his world-brightening star. It was not the Persians' day to fight; the time for their battle-seeking had run out. They turned their faces from the field and abandoned their wounded to their fate. In that moment when fortune had turned, Gostahm's snorting steed lay killed. He went on foot, spear in hand, in his armor and helmet, like a drunken man. When Bizhan drew near to Gostahm, night came and the day grew dark. He said to him: come, climb up behind me; no one is dearer to me than you. They both mounted on that single horse just as the sun went wholly dark. They fled toward the skirt of the mountain, their cause overturned. The Turkish horsemen were all glad at heart, freed from their toil and grief. They came back to their own camp, striding proudly, ready now for feasting. A roar rose up from the champions of Iran; the pounding of the war drums nearly deafened every ear.

Bahram ran to his father and said: You who are chief of all the champions, back when I seized that crown and raised it high upon my spear, I lost a whip somewhere; if these worthless Turks find it in their hands, what shame will fall on Bahram! The whole world would turn black as ebony before my eyes. My name is written on that leather; if the commander Piran takes it up, I will go swiftly and hard, and bring it back, however long the struggle takes. But this omen troubles me, that my name may be dragged down into the dust. Old Gudarz said to him: My son, you are bringing your own good fortune to its end. For the sake of one strap-bound stick, you walk straight into the breath of an ill-starred fate. Bahram the warrior answered: I am no better than my family and my people. A man can only die when his time comes; why should I fear the worst without cause? Giv said to him: Brother, do not go. I have plenty of new whips. There is one of solid gold set in silver, its two lashes strung with pearls and jewels. When Farangis opened her treasury, she gave me weapons and belts in abundance. I took that armor and whip, and left the rest behind in Turan as of no worth. King Kavus gave me another too, of gold and gems, bright as the shining moon. I have five more, all worked in gold, woven over with royal jewels. I will give you all seven. Do not leave this place; do not stir up some senseless new battle. Brave Bahram said to Giv: This disgrace cannot be counted a small thing. For you it is a matter of color and ornament; for me it is my name yoked to shame. Either I bring that whip back, or I lose my head in the effort. But God's will for him was otherwise, and the turning of fate was against him. Whenever fortune falls asleep, the wise man said, even the right choice comes out wrong for you. He spurred his horse and came to the battlefield, the face of the world bright with moonlight. He wept bitterly over the slain, over those luckless men with grief-scarred hearts. The body of Rivniz lay there in blood and dust, drowned in it, his armor slashed to ribbons. Bahram, brave as a lion, wept aloud: Alas, young and daring rider, now that you are slain, what are you but a handful of dust? The great ones rest in their halls, and you lie in the pit. He went among the dead one by one, all of them fallen across the wide plain. Among those famous men one lay wounded, who had barely escaped their swords with his life. He recognized Bahram at once, and groaning, asked him his name. He said to him: My lion, I am still alive, though cast down and helpless among the dead. For three days I have longed for bread and water; how I wish for a bed to lie down on. Bahram hurried to his side, tender in heart and gentle in his own body. He circled around him weeping, clawing his own face; he tore his shirt and bound the man's wounds. He told him: Do not fear because of these wounds; you are failing only because they are left untended. Now that I have bound them, you can make for the army, and you will soon recover from these injuries. On this battlefield I have lost a whip, gone from me, one meant for the crown of the king. When I have found it again I will come back to you and quickly carry you to your army. From there he rushed to the heart of the army, searching until he found the whip. It lay among a heap of the slain, soaked in mingled dust and blood. He got down from his horse and picked it up, and from there he began to raise a cry. His horse caught the breath and call of a mare and seethed with fire like the sacred flame. It bolted swiftly toward the mare; Bahram was stricken with grief and ran after it. He kept charging until he reached it, his face streaming with sweat from helmet and mail. As soon as he caught it he mounted, an Indian blade gripped in his hand. When he pressed his thighs it left no trace of a track; rider and horse's flanks were caked with dust and sweat. He grew so heartsick, all at once, that he struck the sword against his own mount's legs. And from that place to this battlefield he crossed the road on foot, swift as the wind. He saw the whole plain covered with the slain, the earth planted red like roses and redbud blossoms. He said: Now what road shall I take, searching this plain without a mount? The enemy chiefs learned of him, and a hundred riders sped from their center. To seize him there on that battlefield and carry him off to the army's commander. Bahram the lion strung his bow and, bold, rained down arrows from it. Whenever he loosed a single arrow, no one could stay standing anywhere near him. He wounded and killed many of them; on foot he did not flinch nor turn his back. The riders all turned back from him and set their faces toward Piran. When the army had vanished from Bahram's sight, he gathered many arrows from every side. When the troops came before their commander, the warriors told him everything. Much was said about that man of war, about his fighting, both open and hidden. They said: what a bold lion this is; even on foot he never tires of battle. Piran asked: who is this man, and among those famous ones, what is his name? Someone answered: he is Bahram the lion-slayer, the one who lights up the whole army. Piran said to Ruyin: rise, for Bahram has no way to escape. If you can take him alive, the world will finally be at rest from his fury. Take with you from the army whoever is needed, whoever is renowned and eager for combat. When Ruyin heard this he came at speed, with no dark doubt in his heart. Bahram the lion set an arrow to the string, holding his shield above his head, the sky below. He unleashed such a hail of arrows on Ruyin that the bright moon turned dark as lapis. When his arrows wounded Ruyin son of Piran, the hands and feet of all the champions grew slack. Weakened, they returned to their commander, full of pain and with darkened souls. They said: never have we seen a single man on foot fight like a sea-dragon in battle. When Piran heard this he was struck with grief, trembling like a leaf on a tree. He mounted his swift, spirited horse and rode out, many warriors going with him. He came to Bahram and said: renowned one, why have you made war on foot? Were you not with Siyavash in Turan, ever in the thick of quarrel and fighting? Between you and me there is bread and salt shared, and sitting together nurtured our affection. It would be wrong that with this lineage and noble stock, with such lion's courage and so much skill, your head should fall from your height into the dust, and your loving mother's heart should burn. Come, let us make a pact and an oath, on whatever terms your heart finds good. After that we shall become kin to one another; once we are kin, we will seek greater ends. You are on foot against a famous army; you cannot hold out. Spare your own life. Bahram said to him: commander, wise, clear-sighted, and bright of soul, all I need from you is a single mount; otherwise, for me it is a fight to the end. Piran said: seeker of renown, do you not know there is no sense in this plan? The words I spoke are better for you; do not be reckless, do not rage in vain. Consider whether the riders of that host would take such a shame upon themselves, that so many men of noble seed, crown-wearers and heroic warriors, were killed and wounded by your fighting, that such a battle was joined so suddenly. Who would now seek passage toward Iran, unless their brain and blood are boiling with rage? If it were not for the wrath of Afrasiyab, whose head would spin in fury at such words, I would have given you a horse, young man, to carry you to your champion. He said this, then turned and went back to his place. He left, and from the army came Tazhav, his heart full of hatred and his head full of scheming, a rider whose fury matched a lion's. He asked Piran about him, and Piran said that Bahram has no equal among the heroes. With kindness I gave him plenty of good counsel and showed him the right path and a worthy alliance. But those words found no way into his heart; he only seeks a route to the Iranian army. The warlike Tazhav said to Piran: you have no stomach for anything but kindness. I will go, and even on foot I will seize him, and in an instant crush his head beneath a stone. He hurried out to that battlefield where Bahram the hero stood without an army. When he saw Bahram with spear in hand, he roared out like a maddened elephant. He said to him: against this whole famous army, a single man on foot facing so many riders? Do you mean to march boldly on Iran? Do you mean to lift your head so high? You cut down the chiefs in an instant; now the hour has come for your own time to end. Then he ordered: close in on him, strike him with arrow, mace, and javelin. A whole troop gathered against him, every man who was a leader among the brave. Bahram the warrior strung his bow and with his arrows he blotted the light from the sky. When his arrows were spent he turned to the spear, and mountain and plain became a sea of blood. When his spear snapped he fought on with mace and blade, splashing blood up onto the dark clouds. As the battle raged on in this way, many a brave man was wounded by his arrows. When Bahram the hero grew weak and drained of strength, Tazhav came at him from behind. He struck a blow with his sword to the top of his shoulder, so that the lion pitched forward face down. The dagger-wielding hand was severed from his body; he could fight no more, and his fortune was overturned. Yet the tyrant Tazhav's own heart burned, and his face flared up like fire. He turned his face away, full of pain and shame, and hot blood came seething up in his liver.

When the shining sun turned its back on the sky, Giv's heart grew heavy with grief for his brother. He said to Bizhan: 'Guide me, my brother has not returned.' 'We must go and see what has become of him; we should not weep only over what is already gone.' The two warriors set off like the wind toward that place of strife, shame, and battle. Longing to find Bahram, they searched among the wounded and the slain. The whole plain was covered with wounded and dead; a world was drenched in blood. When the warriors found Bahram, they rushed forward, their eyes flooded with tears and blood. He lay cast down in dust and blood, his hand fallen from him, his fortune overturned. Water poured down over his face, and out of love for him two men's eyes ran with blood. When his senses returned he opened his eyes; his body was full of blood and his heart full of rage. He said to Giv: 'You who seek great deeds, when you wrap my face in the coffin, take vengeance for your brother from Tazhav; an ox has no strength to stand against a lion. Piran son of Vise first saw me, he who once sat beside me in kinder days. All the famous men and champions of China came at me, hungry for revenge. It was cruel Tazhav who cut me down, with no regard for lineage or standing.' When brave Bahram spoke these words, Giv poured pale tears from his lashes. By the Creator who sustains all he swore, by the white day and the deep-blue night, that no Roman helmet would touch his head again until he had won vengeance for Bahram. Full of grief and full of hatred he mounted, an Indian blade gripped in his hand. At the moment when the face of the world turned black, Tazhav rode out from the scouting patrol. When brave Giv saw him from afar, he wheeled his reins and held his breath. When he knew that Tazhav had drifted past the army, far from its champions and proud leaders, he flung the coiling lasso at him; the noose caught Tazhav around the waist. He drew it tight and quickly turned back, then easily tore him from the saddle. He threw him to the ground, wretched and broken, dismounted, and bound his hands. He mounted again and dragged him along behind, like a man senseless and half-dead. Pleading, Tazhav said to him: 'Brave one, no strength is left in me at all. What did I do that, before all this great host, you have turned my dark night into hell?' He struck two hundred lashes across his head and said: 'This is no place for talk. Do you not know, wretched and ill-fated one, that in the garden of vengeance you have planted a fresh tree, whose height reached level with the wheeling sky, whose trunk drank blood, and whose fruit was heads? You must be Bahram's prey in war; now you will feel the bite of the crocodile's jaws.' Warlike Tazhav said to Giv: 'You are like an eagle, and I like a lark. I had no design of harm against Bahram, nor did his final hour come by my hand. When I arrived, the horsemen of China had already slain him on the field of vengeance.' The truth was that Bahram had lost his life, and Giv's heart writhed with grief for him. Brave Giv dragged him before the lion Bahram, whose heart was pierced with wounds. He said to him: 'Here is the head of the faithless one; I repay cruelty with cruelty. Thanks to the Creator who made the world, that I have lived to see this hour, so that now I can send the dark soul of your enemy out of your sight forever.' Tazhav kept pleading with them, seeking strength to escape his own death. He said: 'If this is how it happened, what good is it to cut off my head with a dagger? Let me be a slave to your soul; I will tend and honor your grave.' The lion Bahram said to Giv: 'You renowned and famous brave one, if harm came to me through him, he need not taste death on this same day. Give his guilty head to me as a gift of life; let him live, that he may keep my memory in the world.' But when the brother saw Bahram wounded and saw the cruel Tazhav bound, he cried out and seized Tazhav's beard, and cut his head from his body like a lark's. After that, Giv's heart burned over them, and his soul blazed up with a fire of grief. He raised a cry: 'Who in all the world has seen such a wonder, hidden or plain, that whether I kill or am killed before me, he was my brother or my kin?' He spoke, and brave Bahram gave up his life; such is the way and the nature of the world. Whoever reaches for the reins of greatness must first wash his hands in blood. Whether he kills or is killed in agony, wander as little through this world as you can. Weeping, he bound Tazhav's corpse on the horse, handed it to Bizhan, and then mounted. He carried it from the place of Tazhav toward Iran, his heart burning with rage. When he had moved far from that field of battle, he built a tomb like a palace hall. He filled its inside with musk and ambergris, and wrapped Bahram's body in Chinese silk. In the manner of kings he laid him on an ivory throne and hung a crown above his head. They sealed the tomb's entrance red and blue; you would think Bahram had never existed. That renowned army fell into mourning, for Bahram and for the turning of fate.

When the shining sun lifted its head above the mountain, the crown of white day rose up. The scattered troops gathered together, and each began to tell his story. How many of the Iranians had been killed, and how the commander's fortune had turned against him. The Turks had gained the upper hand in this fight; now the army has no time to linger. We must go to the king without delay, and see what turn the times will take. If the king's heart is not set on war, then neither you nor I have any cause to press on. The son was left fatherless, the father sonless; some were slain, and the living were sick at heart. If the king commands war, he will raise a renowned army. We will come with hearts full of vengeance and battle, and make this world too narrow for the enemy. With this resolve they turned back from that border, every heart full of blood, every soul burning. Brother grieving over a brother's blood, their tongues full of memories of their kin. They set off all together toward Kaseh Rud, their spirits saluting the dead they left behind. The scouts came out ahead of the army, but saw no one in that place. They quickly sent word to Piran that the land was emptied of Iranians. When Piran heard this at once, he sent spies out in every direction. When the retreat of the great men was confirmed, the commander washed the sorrow from his soul. At dawn he came out with his army and circled around that battlefield. The mountain and plain, the lowlands and meadows, were covered with pavilions and tents like a garden. He distributed the spoils and took his own share, marveling at the ways of the world. That one day brings rise, another day decline; sometimes it makes you glad, sometimes it strikes you with dread. Better then to spend our days with a wine cup, and pass each day as it comes. With this news he dispatched a swift camel to Afrasiab at the hour of sleep. The commander rejoiced at that news, freed from grief and heartache. All his soldiers, their spirits brightened, prepared to welcome the hero in state. They hung up garments of finery and showered coins over his head. When he drew near the king's city, the commander came out with his army to receive him. He praised him greatly and said: among the heroes you have no equal. For two weeks from Afrasiab's palace rose the sound of harp and lute. In the third week Piran decided to return home in gladness. Afrasiab prepared a robe of honor so lavish that counting it would take too long. Gold coins and royal jewels, golden belts studded with gems, Arabian horses with golden saddles, Indian swords in golden sheaths, a splendid throne of ivory and teak, a cradle of turquoise and a crown of ruby, Chinese servants and Byzantine slaves, two turquoise cups full of musk and amber. He sent these gifts to Piran, and after that gave him much advice as well: Stay with the wise counselors and be watchful; guard the army against the enemy. Choose clever, discerning scouts and send them everywhere across the world. For Kaykhosrow today has wealth and power, and has adorned the world with justice and generosity. Lineage, greatness, throne, and crown: once dust settles over them, ask for nothing more. Do not feel safe just because the enemy has withdrawn; keep asking for fresh news, hour by hour. Where Rostam is the champion, if you sleep at ease your soul will writhe in regret. Piran accepted all his advice, for Afrasiab was his lord and his kinsman. The commander Piran and that whole company set out toward the road to Khotan. This tale of Forud has come to its end; now the battle of Kamus must be sung.