Rostam Breaks the Enemy's Line

There stood Gahar of Gahan, a warrior fierce as a lion, with his black banner raised high. When his helmet caught sight of Rostam, he flared with rage and let out a roar like a hunting lion. He cried: I will take vengeance for the Turks of China from this man of Sistan, here on this field of war. He spurred his horse out from the ranks and came thirsting for revenge against the great warrior. But when up close he saw the helm of Rostam, a cold sigh rose from the depths of his chest. He told himself: to fight this towering elephant is like plunging into the depths of the Nile. A timely retreat with your head still on your shoulders beats seeking battle for glory and repute. He fled toward the center of his army, all the troops watching him from every side. Rostam's banner rose in the midst of the host like a tall tree on a mountain ridge. Rostam chased after him like a dust storm; the earth turned red and the sky went deep blue. Gahar of Gahan grew terrified, knowing his crown and throne would end with this. He raised a cry as loud as a war drum, so loud that Gudarz and Tus both heard it. He wanted to fight, but he did not know this time he would only weep in defeat. How good it is when a man knows himself, instead of rushing to attack his foe. The mighty warrior was right behind him, saying: Get ready, dig your grave or sew your shroud. He drove a spear into his belt, tearing his armor and the joints that held it. He flung him off like a leaf from a tree when a hard wind strikes the branch. He toppled that dark banner to the ground, as if Gahar of Gahan had never been. The champions saw what Rostam had done, and the dust of battle rose on left and right. They carried off the royal banner and the drums; proud Gudarz and Tus came forward. A shout went up from the army of Iran, for the champion who shields the host had won. Rostam gave the order: send me a hundred noble horsemen from Iran. This very hour, that elephant and ivory throne, those armbands, cymbals, that collar and crown, I will seize from China and give to Iran, hand them to the victorious king of the brave. A hundred riders came from Iran, armored, gripping their ox headed maces. Rostam said to the men of Iran: let every one of you gird up for vengeance. By the life and head of the king, by the sun and moon, by the blood of Siyavash, by the army of Iran, by God the just, the giver of life, who grants victory on the field of war: if any noble of Iran's army takes flight before the army of Turan, I will strike his head from his body on the spot and turn his blood into flowing streams. The army knew he had a lion's nature: his claws craved the deer's flesh he hunted. They all turned their faces toward the Khaqan, each one lowering his spear, eager for battle. The mighty warrior charged out in front, giving the reins to swift Rakhsh. He splashed blood up toward the moon; the stars looked down upon that battlefield. So much dust boiled up from the field that no one could see the face of the plain. From the din of riders and the blows of spears, stirrup could not be told from rein. The air turned black as a dark face; the dead so covered the ground that no path showed. The whole land was bodies, armor, and helmets, and heads bidding farewell to their trunks. The dust of the horsemen rose like clouds on the wind; the earth filled with the clang of steel. Many a noble, for the sake of honor and name, threw away his life recklessly in the fight. Rostam let out such a roar that you would think the whole world had begun to boil. He said: that elephant, that ivory throne, those armbands, crown, collar and diadem, the shields of China and the royal tent, the crown and all the trappings of the beasts, all these befit Kay Khosrow of Iran, who is the new sovereign of the world. For no king so exalted has ever lived; the sun and moon have never seen his like. What business have you with a crown of gold, faced with such strength, such effort, such skill? Reach out your hands to be bound; bend your waists into the loop of my lasso. For you it is enough to keep your lives; the crown and signet belong to another. I will send them to the king of the earth, whether Manshur, Shangal, or the Khaqan of China. Otherwise I will fling the dust of this battlefield up to the moon beneath my horses' hooves. The Khaqan opened his tongue with insults, saying: You wretch of foul body and foul soul, neither Iran, nor that king, nor that gathering: it is you who should be begging me for mercy. You man of Sistan, worse than everyone, do you imagine the king of China needs your army? They loosed a fierce rain of arrows, like an autumn wind lashing a tree. Eagle feathered shafts filled the sky; no one could dream of a battle so fierce. When Gudarz saw that storm of steel like diamonds, his heart burned with worry for Rostam. He said to Rahham: Do not delay a moment. Go with your bow and two hundred riders. With Chachi bows and arrows of white poplar, guard the mighty warrior's back in the fight. Then he told Giv: Draw up the troops; on this field do not seek out more enemies. This is no time to rest or take one's ease, nor a moment for planning and array. Go with the brave toward the right flank; find out where Piran and Human have gone. Look at the mighty warrior before the Khaqan of China, hurling the sky down upon the earth. Rahham flared up like a leopard and came to guard Rostam's back in the battle. Rostam said to Rahham the lion: I fear my Rakhsh is worn out from the labor. If he grows weak, I will fight on foot, soaked and glazed with blood and sweat. This is an army thick as ants and locusts; you keep clear of the elephants and their drivers. We will bring them all whole before the king, a fresh gift from Shognan and from China. Then from that spot he shouted: May the devil be the companion of Rome and China! You wretches whose fortune is lost and helpless, all of you pitiful, aching mourners: Had you no word of who Rostam is? Or has your skull been emptied of all sense? The man who thinks nothing of a dragon, who hunts down elephants on the day of war, are your heads still not weary of fighting me? My only gift is the mace and the sword. He loosed the coiling lasso from his saddle strap and cast its raw hide loop over the saddle bow. He spurred Rakhsh, and a roar rose up that tore the very ear of a dragon. Wherever he flung that rawhide loop, he cleared the ground of its bravest men. Each time he snatched a chieftain from his saddle, with the noose of his lasso from ambush, on this battlefield proud Tus would send the horns and drums blaring up to the clouds. He bound the hands of every man of Iran's enemies, driving them from the plain toward the hills.