The Words of Daqiqi

He rolled up the letter and sealed it, then handed it to those two proud envoys. He instructed them: Be wise, and enter his palace hall together. When you see him upon his throne and seat, bow yourselves low before him. Pay him homage in the manner of kings; do not walk past his crown and his throne. When you both sit down before him, turn your faces toward his shining crown. Deliver the message of Farkhash to him, and listen carefully for his reply. When you have heard his answer in full, kiss the ground and take your leave. When the vengeful Bidarafsh set out from his presence, he raised his banner toward radiant Balkh. With his reckless companion he sought his own glory, for he was the one who cast aside the good, straight path. When they came from the land of Turan to Balkh, they dismounted at his court gate. They went on foot until they stood before him, and pressed their faces to that threshold. When they saw his face upon the throne, like the sun and Mercury above the moon, they offered praise like servants before the chosen king of the fortunate. They gave him that royal letter, written upon it in the hand of the Yabghu. When the king of the world opened the letter, he grew enraged and began to writhe with fury. At that moment he summoned old Jamasp, who had been Goshtasp's guide and counselor. The chosen men of Iran and its army commanders, the world-seasoned heroes and the priests, he called all those keepers of the sacred fire before him, and brought out the Avesta and laid it forth. He summoned his prophet and his high priest, and Zarir, his chosen army commander. Zarir the commander was his own brother, the leader of the champions of his army. He was the world's greatest hero in that age, when Esfandiar was still a young rider. He was the shelter and the backbone of the troops, the general who guarded the army and the throne. He alone shielded the world from evil; in battle it was his spear that mattered. The world-seeking king said to noble Zarir, to blessed Jamasp and his brave son, that Arjasp, the lord of the Turks of China, has sent me a letter such as this. He showed them the ugly words that the king of the Turks had written to him. He said: What do you make of this? What do you say the end of it will be? For friendship is a bad thing with someone who has little store of wisdom. I am of the pure-born line of Iraj, and he is of the line of Tur, of a sorcerer's stock. How could there be peace between us? Yet I had held out some hope. Whoever has a name and would leave a lasting one behind must take counsel with everyone.