The Words of Daqiqi

When that noble one renewed his vengeance, he threw a saddle on Zarir's horse. He galloped swiftly to the battlefield and split that royal army into three parts. One of those three he gave to Bastur, that commander of blessed lineage. Another portion he handed to his brother, along with Iran's nobles and its brave men. The third part he kept for himself, he whose voice rang out like a roaring cloud. Just as Bastur was blessed and pure of body, so too were the other swordsmen he brought. They stood together before him, for breaking enemy ranks was his way. And so they made a pact on this: that even if the enemy's blade split the earth, not one of us will turn back from this fight, nor loosen our grip on these evildoers. They tightened the girths firmly on their horses and rode as one heart toward the battle. When they spurred their horses into the fray, the heroes and young men of Iran, all rose up together as one, and dressed the world in armor. They killed so many of the enemy that the battlefield grew cramped for space. Such blood flowed over mountain and plain that the mills there turned with blood. When Arjasp saw what had come upon him, with his famous men and warriors, the fierce hero set his spear against those champions of the Yabghu line. He drove it through their chests and out their backs, until he had slain all their leaders. When the Khan realized how many still remained, and that no one dared to face him, the army began to stir and the fighting raged, and it went on until the day passed by. At that moment he broke into flight, and turned his face toward the desert. Then the Iranians pressed hard behind that vast Chinese army. They killed many of them on every side, and, strange to say, no one spared a single one.