Reign of Kay Kavus and His March to Mazandaran

When a strong tree grows tall, harm may still reach it from the turning sky. Its leaves wither, its roots weaken, and its crown begins to bend toward the ground. When it tears its feet from where it stood, it gives its place to a fresh new branch. It hands over its flowers, leaves, and garden to a spring that shines like a bright lamp. If a bad branch springs from a good root, do not rush to fight with the branch. When a father leaves the world to his son, he lays bare before him all he had hidden. If the son casts off his father's glory and name, call him a stranger, not a son. Whoever loses the way of his teacher deserves the cruelty that fate will bring him. Such is the custom of this ancient house: you can never see its top from its root. When someone recognizes its evil ways, he will not wish to linger long in this world. When Kavus took his father's throne, the whole world became his servant, from end to end. The same throne, the collar, the earrings, and the golden crown inlaid with jewels. The same Arab horses with full manes; no one in the world could match him. It happened that in a gilded garden he was drinking sweet wine one day. On a golden throne with legs of crystal sat the master of the world. Together with the champions of Iran, the king took counsel on matters great and small. A demon musician came to the gatekeeper, seeking an audience with the king. He said: I am a fine singer, one of the minstrels of Mazandaran. If I am worthy to serve the king, let the way to his throne be opened to me. The chief of the gate left the curtain and came gracefully before the king. He said: a musician is at the door, with a lute, and he is a splendid singer. The king ordered him summoned and seated among his players of instruments. When he had tuned his lute as it should be, he raised a Mazandarani song. May Mazandaran, our city, be remembered; may its land and soil be forever thriving. For its gardens are always in bloom, and on its mountains grow tulips and hyacinths. The air is sweet, the earth full of color, neither hot nor cold, forever spring. The nightingale sings in the garden, the deer roams proudly across the meadow. There you rest in comfort and ease, and all year long there is color and scent everywhere. It is as if rosewater flows in its streams, and the soul is gladdened by its fragrance. In December, January, November, and March alike, you will always find the earth full of tulips. All year the streambanks are smiling, and everywhere hawks are used for hunting. The whole land is adorned with brocade, gold, and riches. Idol-fair servants wear golden crowns, and all the nobles wear golden belts. When Kavus heard these words from him, a fresh idea took root in his mind. His war-seeking heart was set on leading an army toward Mazandaran. He said to the proud warriors: we have given ourselves over entirely to feasting. If a brave man takes to laziness, he never grows tired of comfort and pleasure. I surpass Jamshid, Zahhak, and Kay Qobad in fortune, glory, and justice. I must have more valor than they had; a crowned king should be a conqueror of the world. When the words reached the ears of the nobles, none of them saw this plan as a happy one. They all turned pale, their faces creased; no one wished to fight the demons. No one dared give a straight answer; secretly their hearts were full of cold sighs. Men like Tus, Gudarz son of Keshvad, Giv, Khorad, Gorgin, and brave Roham, said aloud: we are your humble servants; we tread the earth only at your command. After that they gathered together and freed their hearts from his words. They sat and said to one another: what has fortune brought upon our heads? If the king does not bury these words he spoke while drinking wine, ruin will come upon us and upon Iran; no water or soil will remain in this land. For Jamshid, with his glory and his ring, who had demons, birds, and fairies at his command, never once thought of Mazandaran, nor sought war with the demons from his brave men. Even wise and skillful Fereydun never set his soul on such a course. If this thing could have been carried out by courage, treasure, fame, and skill, Manuchehr would have been the first to do it, and would not have humbled his heart before it. Now we must find some remedy so this evil turns away from the land of Iran. Then Tus said to the chiefs: O battle-tested, valiant leaders, there is now only one remedy for this trap; let us arrange it, and the task is not hard. We must send a swift dromedary to Zal son of Sam, and give him this message: if your head is buried in the mud, do not wash it now; sharpen your mind and show your face. Perhaps he can open his wise lips and lay his words upon the proud king's heart. Let him say this evil was suggested by the demon; one should never trust a demon at all. Perhaps Zal will turn him back from this decision; if not, the sign of the end has come. They composed messages of every kind and sent a swift dromedary racing out. The rider galloped until midday, until he reached world-illuminating Zal. He delivered this message from the nobles: O famed and noble son of Sam, a strange affair has now arisen whose scale cannot be easily measured. If you do not gird yourself for this task, neither body, nor land, nor field will remain here. A thought has risen in the king's heart; the demon has twisted him from the right path. He will not agree with the ancient struggles of his forefathers. He wants treasure without toil; he craves the pastures of Mazandaran. If any thorn of doubt about setting out troubles the commander, he will soon go anyway. He will throw to the wind all the toil you endured since the days of Kay Qobad. You, with Rostam, the lion not yet sated with milk, girded yourself like a bold lion. Now all that will turn to nothing before him; the soul of that ill-wisher has been twisted. When Dastan heard this, he twisted in anguish; his body trembled like a tree. He said: Kavus is a willful man, tested neither by the world's warmth nor its cold. Whoever has held the foremost place in the world watches years and sun and moon pass over him. Who is left in the world at whose sword both low and high all tremble together? It would be no wonder if he does not heed me; I will be wounded if he ignores my counsel. But if I make this hardship easy on myself and cut my heart from concern for the king, neither the Creator, nor the king, nor the champions of Iran will approve of me. I will go and tell him whatever counsel I have; if he accepts it from me, it will do good. And if he grows angry, the road is open; Rostam is here with the army. He spent that long night deep in thought, until the sun showed its crown from above. He girded himself and set out for the king; the nobles went along the road with him. Word reached Tus, Gudarz, Giv, Roham, Gorgin, and the brave heroes, that Dastan had come near to Iran, and his auspicious banner had appeared. The chiefs of the army went out to meet him, every man who wears a champion's helmet. When Dastan son of Sam drew close, they all went to meet him at once. They called down blessings upon him and rode with him toward the king. Tus said to him: O proud hero, you have endured such a long, hard journey. For the sake of the nobles of Iran, you chose this toil to bring us peace. We are, every one of us, your well-wishers, honored by the glory of your helmet. Zal said to the famous men: whoever has not been worn down by the years, let all the counsel of the elders come to his mind; then the turning heavens will do him justice. It is not right to hold back our counsel from him, for we ourselves are not free of the need for such counsel. If his head turns away from counsel and wisdom, regret over the world will come upon him. They said aloud: we are with you; after you, we will heed no one's counsel. They all went together to the king, coming to the renowned throne.

Zal the golden went in first, and behind him came the nobles with their golden belts. When Zal, son of Sam, saw Kavus seated content upon his throne, he folded his arms and bowed his head low, and walked to take his place. He said: 'Master of the world, you who stand tall above the great and the small, no throne, no crown has ever heard of one like yours, and the turning sky has known no fortune like yours. May you be victorious and glad all year long, your mind full of wisdom, your heart full of justice.' The renowned king welcomed him warmly and seated him on the throne beside himself. He asked about the hardship of the long road, about the warriors and about the proud Rostam. Zal the golden answered the king: 'May the king live sweetly and triumphant.' They are all glad and bright under your fortune, holding their heads high because of your throne.' Then he began to tell a tale and opened the door to words worth hearing. He said: 'King of the world, you are worthy of the throne and the crown of the great.' Kings before you have never once walked this road. Many days have passed over my head, and the sky has turned above the earth many times.' Manuchehr departed from this wide world, leaving behind him much treasure and many palaces. So too Zav, and Nozar, and Kayqobad, and how many great ones we still remember, with their dense armies and heavy maces, they never set out for Mazandaran, for that is the home of sorcerer demons, all charms and firm knots of magic. You cannot break it with the sword, nor win it with treasure or cleverness. Nor can you open it with trickery. Do not throw away your effort, your gold, and your coin to the wind. No one thinks it lucky to go there, nor to even form the plan of going. You should not lead the army that way. No king ever conceived such a plan. Though these famous men are your subjects, they are servants of a just and righteous Lord. Do not plant a tree from the blood of so many great heads just to gain a little more.' Its fruit and its height would only bring a curse; that was never the way of the kings of old.' Kavus answered: 'I am not without need of your good counsel, yet I surpass even Fereydun and Jamshid in manhood, in glory, and in wealth, and I surpass Manuchehr and Kayqobad, who never even spoke of Mazandaran.' My army, my courage, and my treasure are greater; the world lies beneath my sharp sword. Now that the world lies open to my knowledge, why should we leave any land hidden by iron?' I will bring them all into line, one by one, if I bring the ways of the sword and battle to bear.' Whether I leave no one alive in Mazandaran, or lay a heavy tribute and tax upon them, they are so wretched and lowly in my eyes, whether sorcerers or demons, that whole company. The news will reach your own ears that the face of that land has been emptied of them. You, with Rostam, stay here and rule; be the guardian of Iran and stay watchful. The Creator of the world is my ally; the heads of the fierce demons are my prey. But if you will not stand with me in battle, then do not command us to delay at this gate.' When Zal heard these words from the king, he could see no sense in them at all, head or tail. He said to him: 'You are king and we are your servants; we speak to you out of care and love.' Whether you command justice or command wrong, for your sake we must walk and breathe.' I have cleared my heart of worry; I have set out every word I knew. No one can push death away from his own body, and no one can sew shut the eye of the world with a needle. By caution alone no one has escaped his fate; the world seeker finds no way out of these three. May the world always be blessed for you, and may you never have cause to remember my advice. May you never regret what you have done; may your heart, your faith, and your creed stay bright.' Quickly Zal bade the king farewell, his heart filled with smoke at his departure. He left the presence of King Kavus, and the sun and moon went dark before his eyes. The brave nobles went out with him, men like Tus and Gudarz and Roham and Giv. Then Giv said to Zal: 'From God I ask only that He be our guide. In a place beyond the reach of Kavus, I hold no one equal to him.' May greed and the eye of need stay far from you; may no enemy's hand reach out against you. Wherever we go and whatever we enter, we will hear no words of praise but yours.' After the Creator who made the world, the land of Iran places its hope in you.' For the sake of the warriors you bore the hardship and traveled such a difficult road.' Then they took him in their arms, and the journey to Sistan was made ready.

When Zal the commander set out from the frontier, the army followed at once, swift and eager. The king ordered Tus and Gudarz to lead the troops and set them on the road. When night turned to day, the king and his warriors turned their faces toward Mazandaran. He handed the land of Iran over to Milad, along with the keys to the treasury, crown, and royal seal. He told him: if an enemy appears, you must draw the sword of vengeance. In any trouble, take refuge with Zal and Rostam, for they are the backbone of the army and the glory of the throne. Next day the war drums thundered, and Gudarz and Tus drove the army forward. Kavus, kindler of armies, moved on and pitched his throne at the foot of Mount Espruz. In a place where the sun hides itself, there he settled to rest and sleep. It was the haunt of cruel demons, a place that would terrify even an elephant. He spread cloth of gold over the sheepskin, and the air was full of the scent of sweet wine. All the fortunate champions took their seats around Kavus the king's throne. All night they made merry with wine and feasting, until at dawn they rose from sleep. Scattered, they gathered near the king, belts girt and helmets on. Then the king ordered Giv to pick another thousand from the army, men who could swing the heavy mace, to be the ones who would open the city of Mazandaran. Every soul you find, old or young, leave a lifeless body where the living was. Burn whatever you find still standing; spend the night wherever daylight leaves you. Do this before word reaches the demons; sweep the whole world clean of them. Giv girded his belt and left the king, choosing the bravest heroes from the army. He advanced to the city of Mazandaran and rained down sword and heavy mace. Woman, child, and man with staff in hand, none found mercy from the edge of his blade. He plundered and burned the city, spilling poison where healing had once been. He saw a city like highest paradise, its every gate opening onto delight. In every quarter, more than a thousand handmaids wearing necklaces and earrings. Even more attendants than that, wearing crowns, their faces bright as the shining moon. Everywhere a treasure of scattered gold, in one place red coins and precious gems. Countless livestock all around, as if it were paradise itself, right there in place. They brought Kavus word of it, of that joyous place and its splendor. He said: long live the one who said that Mazandaran is the twin of paradise. The whole city seems like a temple of idols, adorned in Chinese silk over roses. Truly its beauties are the beauties of paradise, their cheeks washed rosy by the angel Rezvan. When a week had passed, the Iranians one and all loosened their belts from plundering. Word reached the King of Mazandaran; his heart filled with grief and his head grew heavy. Among the demons before him was Sanjeh, whose body and soul were pained by the news. He told him: go to the White Demon, go as swiftly as sunlight across the turning sky. Tell him: a mighty army has come from Iran to plunder Mazandaran, with the world-seeker Kavus leading them, and a fresh army skilled in war. Now if you do not come to our aid, you will find no one left alive in Mazandaran. When Sanjeh heard the secret message, he repeated the king's words to the demon. The White Demon answered him: do not despair of the turning of fate. I will come now with a mighty army and wipe his tracks from Mazandaran. Night came, and a cloud rose with the army, turning the world black as a Zangi's face. The world seemed like a sea of pitch, all its light hidden away. It raised a tent of smoke and tar overhead; the world went dark and eyes were dazzled blind. When night passed and day drew near, the world-seeker's sight went dark. Two thirds of the army had gone blind, and the heads of the great men were full of fury. Many of them were destroyed as well; nothing was left of the ill-fated. When King Kavus's sight went dark, disaster from his own deeds fell on the army. All the treasure plundered, the army taken captive; young fortune and luck turned old. Take this whole tale to heart, for it shows wonder upon bewildering wonder. When the commander saw his suffering, he said: a wise counselor is better than treasure. As hardship dragged on for a week, the Iranians could see no one at all. On the eighth day the White Demon roared: you fruitless king, useless as a willow tree, you paraded your supremacy and coveted the meadows of Mazandaran. You saw your own strength like a mad elephant and would submit to no one. Not content with crown and throne, you deceived your own reason this way. Now here is what suits your deeds: your heart has found the desires it chased. From among those dagger-wielding demons he chose twelve thousand fighters. He set them as guards over the Iranians and filled the proud men's heads with grief. They put all the leaders in chains, and when the binding and shackling was done, they gave them only enough food to keep body and soul alive, day by day. After that, all the treasure of the king of the world, the jeweled crown and the heavy mace, everything he could see from end to end, he handed to Arzhang, chief of Mazandaran. He said: go to the king and tell him, do not now look to Ahriman for excuses. All the champions of Iran and their king can see neither the bright sun nor the moon. I did not threaten them with death, so that the king might learn life's ups and downs. His wits will leave him in misery and hardship, and no one will pay this matter any heed. When Arzhang heard his words, he turned toward the King of Mazandaran. He set off with the army and the spoils, the captives and the fine horses arrayed. He handed them to the king and quickly returned, coming from the wide plain to that lofty peak.

After that, the wounded, grieving king sent out a man who flew like a bird on the wing, He sent him swiftly toward Zabolestan, to Zal and Rostam, with a greeting. Now my sight has gone dark and my luck has turned black; my crown and throne have fallen into the dust. My heart is wounded, I am in the demon's grip; my life is being torn, piece by piece, from my body. When I recall your counsel, cold sighs rise burning from my heart. I did not act on your wise words, O sage; through my own foolishness, harm has come to me. If you do not gird yourself against this evil, every hope of gain will turn to loss. When the runner reached Zal, he told all he knew, had seen, and had heard: Both that treasure and that renowned army, arrayed as bright as flowers in spring, All of it fell into the demons' hands; you would say the wind swept in and carried it off. When Zal heard this, his skin split with grief; he hid it even from his friend, as from an enemy. With a clear mind he foresaw the coming troubles, and what disaster would fall upon the world. Zal, son of Sam, said to Rostam: The sword has stayed too long in its sheath. It is no time to graze and roam at ease, or to keep ourselves for the throne alone, For the king of the world is in the dragon's jaws, and what a mountain of calamity has fallen on the Iranians. Now you must saddle Rakhsh; with your world-conquering blade you must seek revenge. Surely it was for this very day that the Creator raised and prepared you. This is no task where a demon can rest or draw an easy breath. Bind your chest tight in the tiger-skin armor; clear your head of sleep and idle thought. Any body whose eyes have met your spearpoint, who could say his soul ever found peace again? If you wage war on the sea, it turns to blood; at your battle cry the mountain becomes a plain. Arzhang and the White Demon must never keep any hope for their lives against you. Now break the neck of the king of Mazandaran with your heavy mace, until it is utterly crushed. Rostam answered him: The road is long; how shall I go to take this vengeance? Zal replied: From this kingdom there are two roads, and both are full of hardship and peril. One of the two is the road Kavus took; the other is over mountains and heights, a fourteen-day journey. It is full of demons and lions and darkness; your eyes will grow blind from the gloom. Choose the short road and see wonders, for the Maker of the world will be your ally. Though it is full of hardship, it will pass; let blessed Rakhsh's hooves cross that ground. From dark night until day breaks open, I will pray before the pure God, That I may see once more your chest and shoulders, and your heroic arms and your mace. And if your life too should fall to a demon's hand, by the command of the Lord of the world, who could turn aside such a thing? What He decrees must come to pass. No one will remain here forever; however long we last, we are all called away. One who leaves the world with a lofty name is not wretched in his departing. Rostam said to his noble father: I keep my belt tied fast to your command. Yet to walk on foot into hell, the great ones of old did not think it wise. And no one who has not tired of his own life walks up to a devouring lion. Now, belted and as good as gone, I ask no helper but the just God. I will offer body and soul for the king; I will shatter the spell in the sorcerers' hearts. Every Iranian still living, I will bring back, and gird my belt tight for the task. I will leave neither Arzhang nor the White Demon, neither Sanjeh nor Pulad-e Ghandi nor Bid. By the one God, Maker of the world, Rostam will not turn Rakhsh's foot back, until Arzhang's hands are bound stone-tight, a halter flung around his neck, and Pulad's head and brains crushed underfoot, with Rakhsh's hooves tearing the very ground from its place. He put on the tiger-skin and lifted his shoulders high; Zal called down many blessings upon him. When Rostam set his foot in the stirrup on Rakhsh, the horse held its color and its heart held firm. Rudabeh came, her face streaming with tears; Zal too wept bitterly for him. He said to her: O kind mother, I did not choose this road out of desire. You leave me to your grief for me; place your hope now in God. This is the portion fate has dealt me; keep my body and soul in your care and prayers. They came forward to bid him farewell, for who could know whether they would see him again. Time passes on in just this way, and the wise man counts each breath of it. Every hard day that passes by you, you come to see it as one that made the world flourish.

At midday the hero, the one who lights up the world, set out from his father's side. He crossed a two day journey in a single day, and treated the dark night as if it were daylight. In this way Rakhsh kept cutting through the road, through the shining day and the black nights. His body craved food and stirred with hunger, when a plain full of wild asses came into view before him. He touched his spurs sharply to Rakhsh's flanks, and the wild ass's speed grew heavy beside his. With the lasso, with Rakhsh's swift legs and Rostam in the saddle, no beast or prey could hope to escape. The lion of a man threw the royal lasso and caught the bold wild ass in its loop. He pulled and brought the animal down at once, then came upon it like a roaring lion. From an arrowhead he struck a flame to life, and with it he burned earth, brush, and firewood. Over that fierce fire he roasted the meat, after he had skinned it and taken its life. He ate and tossed the bones aside; this was his pot and this was his feast. He casually took the bridle from Rakhsh's head, found him grazing, and turned him loose in the meadow. He made his bed for sleep among the reeds, taking a place of danger as if it were safe. Those reeds were a lion's lair, a thicket where even an elephant dared not cross. When one watch of the night had passed, the fierce lion came boldly toward its den. On the reeds it saw an elephant of a man asleep, and near him a restless horse. First it thought: I must break the horse, then the rider will fall into my grasp on his own. It rushed roaring toward the gleaming Rakhsh, and Rakhsh in that moment boiled up like fire. He brought down his forelegs and struck its head, and sank his sharp teeth into its back. He beat it against the ground until he tore it apart, and by that means left the beast helpless. When Rostam of the fierce grip woke, he saw the world grown dark and narrow for the lion. He said to Rakhsh: You wise one, who told you to do battle with a lion? If you had been killed in its claws, then this mace and this war helmet of mine, how would I have carried them to Mazandaran, the royal lasso and the heavy mace? Why did you not come to me with a cry? If your cry had reached my ears, and my head had roused from its sweet sleep, your fight with the lion would have been cut short. When the sun raised its head over the dark mountain, the mighty hero rose weary from his pleasant sleep. He rubbed down Rakhsh's body and set the saddle in place, and remembered God, the giver of all good.

A road lay unavoidably before him, and he had no choice but to press on across the barren waste. The horse's legs and the rider's speaking tongue were both undone by the heat and the thirst. He climbed down from the horse, javelin in hand, and stumbled forward like a drunken man. Searching for some way to save himself, he then turned his face toward the sky. He said: O just Judge, you bring every hardship and pain to its end. If my suffering pleases you, then fill up my treasure in that other world. I struggle on so that perhaps the Creator will grant King Kavus deliverance, and the gentle Lord of the world will free the Iranians from the demon's claws. The guilty and the fallen are yours; the worshippers and the servants are yours. His mighty, elephant like body grew so burning hot that thirst left him weak and reeling. Rustam collapsed onto that scorching ground, his tongue split and cracked from thirst. Just then a fine, handsome ewe crossed the land in front of the great hero. The ewe's passing set his mind to thinking; he said to himself: where does this creature drink? Surely the Creator's mercy has come to me in these very days. He gripped his sword in his right hand and, by the world holder's strength, rose to his feet. He set off after the ewe, blade in his fist, holding the horse's lead rope in the other hand. Along the way a spring came into view, when the leading ewe reached that place. The great hero turned his face to the sky and said: O truth speaking Judge, whoever turns away from the one just God no longer keeps his reason in its proper place. This spring is no watering place for a mere ewe, nor is that wild desert ram any kin of mine. When the situation grows tight and words run short, take no refuge except in the pure God. He gave many blessings to that desert ram: may no harm ever reach you from the turning heavens. May the grass on your gate and plain stay green, and may the hunter's heart never rejoice over you. Whoever raises bow and arrow against you, may his bow be broken and his aim go dark. For through you the elephant bodied warrior lives again; otherwise he was already dreading the shroud, for he could not fit in the belly of a great dragon, nor be left to the claws of a wolf, torn to pieces and dragged away, no trace of Rustam ever reaching the enemy. When his soul was done with giving thanks, he unfastened the saddle from swift Rakhsh. He washed his whole body in that pure water and grew radiant like the sun. Once his thirst was quenched, he set out to hunt; he belted his waist and filled his quiver with arrows. He brought down a wild ass like a raging elephant and stripped the hide from its legs and middle. As the sun blazed, he kindled a fierce fire, lifted the meat from the water and roasted it in the flames. When he finished with the fire he began to eat, and set about burying the bones in the earth. He came back to the bright spring for water, and once his thirst was quenched he made ready to sleep. The great hero said to eloquent Rakhsh: Do not fight anyone, and do not pair up with any foe. If an enemy comes, run to me; do not go warring with demons or lions. He slept and rested and said not a word, while Rakhsh grazed and roamed until midnight.

Out of the plain came a dragon so huge that even an elephant, they said, could not escape it. That place was its lair; out of fear of it, not even a demon would pass that way. It came and found the hero asleep, with a restless horse standing beside him. It grew puzzled: what could this be, that someone dared to rest in this place? No one had ever dared cross here, not demons, elephants, or fierce lions. And whatever came here could never escape the claws of that malevolent dragon. It turned its face toward the gleaming Rakhsh, and ran at the horse of the crown seeker. Rakhsh struck the earth with his bronze hooves, roared like thunder, and lashed his tail. When Rustam woke from sleep, his wise mind filled at once with thoughts of battle. He looked all around the desert, but the grim dragon had vanished from sight. He scolded Rakhsh in vain, angry that the horse had roused him from sleep. Once more, when Rustam fell asleep, the dragon slid out of the darkness. Rakhsh galloped to Rustam's pillow, tearing at the earth and scattering it about. Again the sleeping man awoke, enraged, his face gone pale. He scanned the whole desert end to end, but saw nothing except the dark of night. He said to his loyal, wakeful Rakhsh: 'You want to keep the darkness of night hidden.' 'You keep pulling my head back from sleep; you are in such a hurry to wake me.' 'If you raise such an uproar this time, I will cut off your head with my sharp sword.' 'I will go on foot to Mazandaran, carrying my tiger cloak, sword, and heavy mace.' A third time his head sank into sleep, his body wrapped in the famous tiger cloak. The grim dragon roared again, breathing out fire, as if it were kindling flames. Rakhsh left the grazing ground at that moment, but dared not go straight to the hero. His heart was torn in two by that terror, afraid of both Rustam and the dragon. Yet for Rustam's sake his heart could not rest, and like a raging wind he ran to him. He roared and seethed and tore up the ground; the earth split open under his hooves. When Rustam woke from his sweet sleep, he flared up in anger at his trained steed. But the world's Creator made everything bright, so the earth could not hide the dragon. In that darkness Rustam caught sight of it, and swiftly drew his sharp sword from his waist. He roared like a spring cloud, and filled the ground with the fire of combat. He said to the dragon: 'Tell me your name, for after this you will never enjoy the world again.' 'It must not be that, nameless, your soul leaves your dark body here at my hand.' The fierce, ferocious dragon replied: 'No one escapes from my claws.' 'A hundred by a hundred leagues of this plain are mine; even the high sky above is my domain.' 'No eagle dares to pass overhead; my ground does not even glimpse a star in its dreams.' The dragon said to him: 'What is your name? For your mother will have to weep over you.' He answered thus: 'I am Rustam, born of the line of Dastan, Sam, and Nariman.' 'By myself I am a vengeful army; on the brave Rakhsh I make the earth submit.' The dragon closed in to fight him, but in the end it too found no escape. When Rakhsh saw the dragon's bodily strength, and how it grappled with the crown giver, he laid back his ears and, astonishingly, seized the towering dragon in his teeth. He tore its shoulder with his teeth like a lion, while the bold hero stared amazed at it. Rustam struck with his sword and cut off its head; blood poured down from it like a river. The ground vanished beneath its body, and a spring of blood gushed up from it. When Rustam looked upon that grim dragon, he drew a single sharp breath. The whole desert lay swept beneath it, warm blood flowing over the dark earth. The hero stood astonished by it, and kept calling on God's name in Pahlavi. He went into the water and washed his head and body; the world can be won only by the Keeper of the World's power. He said to God: 'O just One, you gave me knowledge, strength, and glory,' 'so that before me lion, demon, or elephant, waterless desert or the river Nile,' 'the enemies be many or few, when my anger rises they are all as one before my eyes.'

When he had finished his prayer, he brought his horse, rose colored Gulrang, all made ready. He mounted the saddle and set off, taking the winding road toward the sorcerers' land. He rode on swiftly down the long road, until the shining sun had passed its height. He saw trees and grass and running water, a place fit for a young man. He saw a spring as bright as a pheasant's eye, and beside it a golden cup full of wine. A roasted wild sheep with bread laid over it, a salt cellar and pickles set all around. It was a feast the sorcerers had set; when Rostam arrived, at the sound of him the demon vanished. He climbed down from his horse and lifted off the saddle, and marveled at the sheep and the bread. He sat by the blessed spring and saw a golden cup filled with wine. Along with the wine he found a lute as well, and found that wilderness like a banquet hall. The mighty hero took the lute in his arms, struck its strings and began to sing. He sang: I am Rostam, the wanderer, the ill fated one, whose share of joyful days is only sorrow. War is his only ground, the desert and the mountain are his only garden. All his battles are with lions and fierce dragons, where no dragon escapes his grip. Wine and cup and fragrant flowers and a companion to drink with, the Creator has granted him none of these. He is forever fighting a crocodile, or else at war with leopards. The song reached the ear of the sorceress, that lament of Rostam and the striking of the strings. She made up her face to look like spring, though her beauty was not truly lovely. Full of color and perfume she came to Rostam, greeted him and sat down close beside him. The mighty hero began to pray to God, and lifted up his praises higher. Thanking that in the plain of Mazandaran he had found a feast, wine and a cup, with a young companion to drink with. He did not know that she was a foul sorceress, a devil hidden beneath the colors. He set a bowl of wine upon his palm and remembered the good gifts of the Giver. When he called on the loving Lord, the sorceress's face began to change. Her spirit had no thought of prayer, her tongue had no strength for praise. She turned black when she heard the name of God; the hero quickly looked at her. He hurled the coiled noose swift as the wind and suddenly caught the sorceress by the head. He questioned her and said: tell me what you are, show your face just as it truly is. A rotting old hag appeared in the noose, full of wrinkles, trickery, snares, and harm. He cut her in two at the waist with his dagger, and filled the hearts of the sorcerers with dread.

From there he set his face upon the road, like anyone searching for the way ahead. He rode on swiftly until he reached a place where he saw no light in all the world. The night was dark as an African's face; no star was visible, no sun, no moon. You would say the sun itself was chained, and every star caught in a snare. He gave Rakhsh his rein and pressed forward; in the blackness he could see neither height nor stream. At last he came out into light, and saw earth soft as silk, all fresh green shoots. A world grown young again from old age, all grass and running waters. His clothing clung to his body like water, drenched; he longed for rest and sleep. He pulled the tiger-skin coat from his body; his helmet was soaked in sweat within. He spread it out beneath the sun and hurried toward sleep and rest. He easily slipped the bridle from Rakhsh's head and set him loose in the young crop of the field. When helmet and coat had dried, he put them on; he made the grass his bed like a lion. He slept and rested his weary body, though he still worried for Rakhsh and for himself. When the field-keeper saw the horse in the green, he ran toward it with a scolding tongue. He came at Rustam and Rakhsh and struck the hero's foot a sharp blow with his stick. When the mighty-bodied man woke from sleep, the keeper cried, 'You devil!' 'Why did you turn your horse loose on my crop, and take what cost you no labor to earn?' His words made the sharp-witted man furious; he sprang up and seized both the man's ears at once. He pressed and tore them clean off at the root, saying not a word to him, good or bad. Quickly the keeper snatched up his ears, wailing, and stunned by Rustam's strength. In that region there was a chieftain named Owlad, a bold and glory-seeking youth. The keeper came before him screaming, holding his two ears in his hand, drenched in blood. He said, 'A man like a black demon, armored in a leopard-skin coat, an iron cap for a helmet; the whole plain from end to end is under Ahriman, and a dragon lies asleep upon his armor; I went to drive his horse out of the crop, but he spared me neither for the horse nor for the field: the moment he saw me he sprang up, said nothing, tore off both my ears and lay back down to sleep.' When Owlad heard this he turned back at once, coming out with a heart smoking from pain. He would see for himself what kind of man this was, and why he had done such harm to the keeper. Owlad had been roaming the meadow with his nobles, out hunting. When he heard this marvel from the field-keeper, at the hunting ground he had seen the tracks of a lion. He turned his rein with his proud companions toward where the giant's trail was found. When the warrior drew near and hemmed him in, the mighty one turned toward Rakhsh. He mounted Rakhsh, drew his gleaming blade, and came on like thundering storm-cloud. Owlad said to him, 'What is your name? What kind of man are you, and who is your king and protector? You should not have passed along this road, the road of fierce and warlike demons.' Rustam replied, 'My name is Cloud! (a cloud that carries a lion's strength; it rains down spears and blades, and lays the heads of chiefs low.) If my name should ever reach your ear, your breath and soul, your blood and heart would freeze. Have you never heard, in any gathering, of the mighty warrior of the lasso and bow? Any mother who bears a son like you, we call a shroud-maker if not a mourner. You have ridden against me with this army; keep talking, you scattered from a domed roof.' He drew the crocodile of doom from its sheath and hung his rough leather saddle-strap before him. Like a lion falling upon lambs, the whole battlefield grew dark with the slain. With a single blow he easily struck off two heads at once, getting four from a single body's worth. He brought the chiefs to the dust with his blows, spreading the heads of proud men beneath his feet. Gate and plain filled with the dust of riders; they scattered across mountains and caves. Rustam roamed like an enraged elephant, a lasso of sixty coils on his arm. As Rakhsh drew close to Owlad, the day turned dark as night for him. Rustam flung his long lasso, and the proud head fell into its loop. He dismounted, bound Owlad's two hands, threw him down before him, and mounted again. He said to him, 'If you speak the truth, I will find neither head nor tail of crookedness in you. Show me the place of the White Demon, and the dwelling of Pulad-Ghandi and Bid. The place where King Kavus is held, and where the one who laid these evils lives. Show it and make the truth plain, and do not bring any deceit into the matter. Then I will turn this throne, this crown, and this heavy mace away from the king of Mazandaran. You will be the ruler over this land and realm, if you use no crookedness at all.' Owlad said to him, 'Empty your heart of anger and open your eyes wide. Do not vainly rob my body of life; you will get from me whatever you want. I will show you the house of Bid and the White Demon, just as you promised. I will tell you, one by one, the towns and roads to where King Kavus is held. From here to King Kavus is a hard hundred leagues on foot. And from there to the demons is another hundred leagues, along a difficult, evil road. It runs between two hundred wondrous pits, more than any measure can reckon. This terrible place lies between two mountains, so high the huma bird cannot fly over it. Twelve thousand warrior demons stand guard by night over those pits. Pulad-Ghandi is their commander; Bid and Sanjeh are their keepers. You will find each one huge as a mountain; his chest, shoulders and neck span ten ropes' length. For you, with such a neck, hand and rein, wielding mace, blade and lance, with such height and stature and skill in war, it is not wise to seek battle with a demon. Beyond them lies stony ground and plain that not even a wild gazelle dares to cross. Past that is a river before you, more than two leagues wide. A demon named Kanarang guards it; all the fierce demons obey his command. On the far side, from Bozgush to Narm-Pay, a settlement stretches some three hundred leagues. From Bozgush to the king of Mazandaran the road is foul and the leagues are heavy. Riders scattered throughout that kingdom number, surely, three hundred thousand. And of war elephants there are twelve hundred, so many there is no room for them in the city. You cannot withstand it alone, even if you were made of iron; a demon's file would grind you down. Such an army, armed and armored, you will not find a single one of them downcast.' Rustam laughed at his words and said, 'If you go seeking the way with me, you will see what this one mighty-bodied man can do to that renowned host. By the power of victorious God, by fortune, and by a sharp sword and skill, when they see the strength of my chest and arm, and the blows of my mace in battle, from terror their sinews and skin will burn so that they can't tell rein from stirrup. Now show me the way to where King Kavus is, and set out on the trail.' He did not rest, dark night nor bright day, but rode on to the foot of Mount Espruz. To the very place where Kavus had led his army and where the sorcerer demons had ruined him. When half the dark night had passed, a clamor and roar of tumult rose from the plain. In Mazandaran they kindled fires and burned candles everywhere. The mighty one said to Owlad, 'What is that place where fires have flared to left and right?' 'That is the city of Mazandaran,' he said, 'where for two parts of the night they dare not sleep. That is the dwelling of Arzhang the Demon, where every hour rises a shout and a roar.' Then the warlike Rustam lay down to sleep; when the shining sun showed its face, he bound Owlad tight to a tree with the coil of his lasso. He slung his forefather's mace across the saddle and rode on, single-hearted and full of cunning.

A royal helmet on his head, and over his chest the sweat-stained tiger-skin coat of war. He turned toward the commander Arzhang, and when he reached the enemy host, that seeker of glory, he let out a roar in the midst of the crowd; you would have thought the sea and the mountain had split apart. Arzhang the demon came out of his tent when that terrible cry reached his ears. The moment Rostam saw him, he spurred his horse and rushed at him like a bolt of fire. He seized his head and ears and his brave mane, and tore the head from the body as a lion would. The demon's severed head, dripping with blood, he flung toward where the gathered troops stood. When the demons saw his mace, their hearts were torn to pieces by the terror of his grip. They no longer thought of home or land or safety; father trampled son to find a way to flee. The mighty-bodied hero drew his sword of vengeance and cleared that whole assembly in a single sweep. When the victorious one, who lights the world, turned back, he came thundering to Mount Aspruz. He loosened the coil of his lasso from Owlad; they sat down beneath a tall tree. The great hero asked Owlad the way to the city where King Kavus was held. When he heard the answer, he set off swiftly, Owlad running ahead of him on foot to guide the way. When the crown-bestower entered the city, Rakhsh let out a cry like a peal of thunder. Then the king said to the Iranians: The evil days are over for us. The neighing of my Rakhsh has reached my ears; my soul and heart are made fresh by that cry. He did not neigh like this even in Qobad's time, when he fought against the king of the Turks. And at that very moment he came before him: the hero who kindles wisdom, eager for battle. The mighty one came to Kavus, and all the proud nobles gathered around. He wept loudly and bowed low before him, and Kavus asked him about his long ordeals. King Kavus took him into his embrace and asked about Zal and about the hardships of the road. He told him quietly, out of these sorcerers' hearing: You must send Rakhsh away and keep him hidden. For when word reaches the White Demon that Arzhang is gone and the world is emptied of him, that the mighty hero has come to Kavus, all the fierce demons will gather together, all your labors will come to nothing, and the world will fill with their armies. So now take the road to the demon's lair; put your body, your blade, and your arrows to the test. Perhaps pure God will be your ally, and you will bring the chief of the sorcerers down into the dust. You must cross seven mountains, where the demons are massed in bands everywhere. A terrifying cave will lie before you, full of dread and danger, as I have heard. Your path lies past those warlike demons, all armed for battle like leopards. Deep in the cave sits the White Demon, on whom their whole army pins its fear and hope. If only you can destroy him, for he is the commander and the backbone of the host. Our army's eyes have gone dark with grief, and my own eyes are lost and blinded in that darkness. The physicians pinned their hope of a cure on the blood from the heart and brain of the White Demon. A learned physician said: if you take his blood, like teardrops, and drip three drops into the eyes, the darkness will be washed clean away with that blood. The mighty hero made himself ready for battle and set out from that place. He said to the Iranians: Stay awake and alert, for I have set my aim on the White Demon. He is a war-elephant and full of cunning, with vast armies massed around him. If it turns out that he bends my back in defeat, you will linger here long, wretched and grieving. But if the Lord of the sun is my ally, and my fortunate star lends me its strength, you will win back your land and your throne, and that royal tree will bear its fruit again.

From there he tightened his belt and set out, his head full of hatred and thoughts of battle. When Rakhsh reached those seven mountains where the fierce demons had gathered in a horde, He came near the bottomless cave and saw an army of demons all around. He said to Owlad: everything I asked you about, I found you truthful in guiding me. Now that the time to act has come, show me the way and reveal the secret. Owlad told him: when the sun grows hot and the demons fall asleep, You will win the fight against them. For now you must wait a while. You will not see a single demon awake, only a few sorcerers keeping watch. Then you may triumph, if the victorious God stands with you as your ally. Rostam was in no rush to move; he waited until the sun climbed high. He bound Owlad hand and foot and tied him to the coils of his lasso, then mounted. He drew his war-blade like a crocodile from its sheath, roared like thunder, and called out God's name. He swept into the army like a whirlwind, cutting the heads of their leaders from their bodies. No one stood against him in battle; none sought honor or shame by facing him. They cleared his path and fled, refusing to lock in combat with him. From there he made for the White Demon, moving like a blazing sun. He saw a cave like hell itself, the demon's body hidden in its darkness. For a moment he stood with his sword gripped, unable to see and with no way to retreat. In that darkness his eyes could see nothing, so he rested there a while. When he rubbed his lashes and cleared his eyes, he searched a bit through that dark place. In the dark he saw what looked like a mountain, so vast it hid the whole cave from view. Its face was black as jet, its hair white like a lion's; its width and height filled the world. It came toward Rostam like a black mountain, its forearms of iron, its helmet of iron. The mighty hero's heart filled with dread; he feared he had come to a bitter, narrow pass. He raged like a maddened elephant and struck a sharp blow with his blade at its waist. With Rostam's strength, from that towering frame he cut away one thigh and one leg. Even severed, the demon grappled with him, like a proud elephant and a furious lion. Each tore the skin from the other; the whole ground turned to mud with blood. Rostam said to himself: if I keep my life today, I will live forever. And the White Demon told himself: I have lost hope of my sweet life. If somehow I escape from this dragon's grip, with my leg cut and my skin torn, Then no one, low or high, no proud lord will ever see me again in Mazandaran. So the White Demon spoke, giving his heart such consolation. The mighty champion, by the power of the Creator, fought hard with pain and rage. The fierce lion of a man reached out, lifted him, hoisted him overhead, and threw him down. He drove in his dagger, split open its heart, and tore the liver from its dark body. The whole cave was filled with the slain; the world had become a sea of blood. He came and untied Owlad's bonds, then coiled and fastened the lasso to his saddle-straps. He gave the torn-out liver to Owlad and set his course toward King Kavus. Owlad said to him: O fierce lion, you have brought a whole world under your blade. My body still bears the marks of your bonds; my neck was under your lasso. The thing you gave my heart hope with, that promise, my hope now asks you to fulfill. Breaking a promise does not suit you, for you are a raging lion and a man of standing. Rostam told him: I will hand over Mazandaran to you, from end to end. From now on I will free you from need and raise you to power in Mazandaran. But there is a task ahead and long hardship, with its ups and its downs. The king of Mazandaran must be torn from his throne and cast into a pit. Thousands upon thousands of sorcerer-demons must be struck down painfully by the blade. After that, whether I hold this land or not, I will not break my promise to you. Then that hero of shining valor, blessed of step, came before King Kavus. He said: O wise, receptive king, take joy in the death of your ill-wisher. I have torn open the White Demon's heart; the king need have no more fear of him. I pulled the liver from his flank. What now does the victorious king command? King Kavus blessed him: may crown and signet never be without you. The mother who bore a son like you deserves nothing but praise. My fortune is greater than both crown and throne, for the one who fells lion and elephant is my servant. King Kavus said to Rostam: O warrior, wise and of good fortune, Drip his blood into my eyes, so that perhaps I may see your face again. When they dropped the blood into his eyes, that dim sight grew bright as the sun. They set an ivory throne beneath him and hung a crown above the ivory. He sat upon the throne of Mazandaran with Rostam and the renowned lords, Men like Tus, Fariborz, Gudarz and Giv, like Rohham, Gorgin, and brave Farhad. In this way, for a week, with harp and wine, King Kavus arranged the celebration. On the eighth day they all mounted their saddles, the world-seeker, the proud warriors, and the host. They all raised their heavy maces and spread out through the city of Mazandaran. At the king's command they moved as one, like fire leaping up from dry reeds. With their sharp swords they kindled fire and burned the whole city, all of it. King Kavus said to the army: now that the sinners have been paid back, And they have received what they deserved, it is time to hold back from killing. We need a man of wit and gravity, one who knows when to hurry and when to hold back, To go to the ruler of Mazandaran, to wake his heart and sober his mind. The son of Zal was pleased with this plan, as were the great men who were his equals. A letter was sent to that ruler, to bring light back to his darkened soul.

A letter written on white silk, full of many fears and hopes inside. A wise scribe wrote it beautifully, setting down within it both the ugly and the good. First he offered praise to the Just One, through whom all skill in the world became visible. He gave us reason and made the turning sky; He made harshness and fury, and He made love. He gave us the power for both good and evil, the Lord of the wheeling sun and moon. If you are just and pure in faith, you will receive nothing but praise from everyone. But if your mark is evil and your deeds are wicked, reproach will reach you from the high heavens. If a world-ruler is truly just, who could ever escape his command? You saw what God did as your due: He scattered the demons and sorcerers like dust. Now, if you become aware of the times, let your soul and reason be your teacher. Leave the crown of Mazandaran where it is and come to this court like a lesser man. For you cannot stand against Rostam's grip; quickly pay us the tribute and tax as we wish. And if you still want the throne of Mazandaran, perhaps this course will open a road for you. Otherwise, like Arzhang and the White Demon, you will have to give up all hope of your life. Then the king summoned Farhad, the wielder of the steel sword. He was a chosen noble of that city, yet he had gone idle and joyless from hardship. He told him: carry this letter of counsel to that demon who has broken free of his bonds. When brave Farhad heard the king's command, he kissed the ground and took the letter away. He came to a city where the people were feeble, yet its riders could chew through iron. Those whose legs were bound in leather straps, such had been their name for many years. In that city was the king of Mazandaran, and there too were his heroes and champions. When he heard that from King Kavus an envoy had come cleverly along the road, a heavy force went out to meet him, the warriors and lions of Mazandaran. He picked them out one by one from the army, wanting each to show what skill he had. He said: today wisdom cannot be told apart from madness. Adopt the ways and manner of a leopard; seize the heads of the clever ones in your claws. They came to meet him with frowning faces, and their words carried nothing he would wish to hear. One took his hand and crushed it, trying to wound the sinews and the bones. But Farhad's face did not turn pale at all; little pain or suffering showed on him. They brought Farhad before the king, who asked about Kavus and the hardships of the road. Then he set the letter before the scribe, the silk sprinkled with wine and musk. When he learned of Rostam and the demons' fate, his eyes filled with blood, his heart with grief. He said within himself: the sun may hide, night may come as the time for rest and sleep, but the world will never find peace from Rostam, and his name will never fade away. He grew sick at heart over Arzhang and the White Demon, and that Pulad, Ghandi, and Bid had all been killed. When he had read the king's letter through, he set both his eyes weeping in the blood of his heart.

This was his answer to Kavus: even if the sea itself were wine, my court stands higher than yours, and my army is greater by many thousands. Wherever they turn their faces to battle, no color or scent remains, even in stone. Now I will bring a lion like army and rouse you all from your sweet sleep. I command twelve hundred war elephants, while in your court there is not a single one. From Iran I will raise such a dark cloud of dust that no one can tell height from hollow. When Farhad heard this dispute from him, the arrogance, the fury, and the bravado, he pressed on until he received the answer to the letter, then rushed his reins back toward Iran's commander. He came and told all he had seen and heard, tearing away every veil that hid the secrets. He said: this man thinks himself higher than the sky, and his lofty pride will not bow down. He turned his head away from my words as well; in his eyes the whole world is worth nothing. The king of the world summoned his champion and repeated everything Farhad had said. Kavus said to the mighty warrior: I will free this assembly from such disgrace. When Rustam heard this, he spoke in turn before the king who cherishes his loyal servants: I must carry the message to him myself; I will draw my words like a sword from its sheath. There must be a letter as sharp as a cutting blade, a message like a thundering storm cloud. I will go to him as a messenger, and with my words alone set blood flowing in streams. In reply King Kavus said: through you the royal ring and crown shine bright. You are the messenger, and you the bold war elephant, the proud lion on every field of vengeance. He ordered the scribe to come before him, and the scribe made the tip of his pen an arrowhead. He wrote: such empty talk is worthless, and it does not befit a wise man. If you empty your head of this arrogance and submit to command like a servant on the road, well and good; if not, I will march my army against you and lead troops from sea to sea. The spirit of the evil White Demon will offer your brains to the vultures.

When the king sealed his letter shut, the world-seeker Rostam set out on the road. He slung the heavy mace across his saddle as he drew near to Mazandaran. Word reached the king that Kavus the sovereign had sent a letter on its way: a messenger fierce as a grim lion, a coiled lasso hooked to his saddle straps, beneath him a horse with a swift stride, his body like a raging elephant. When the ruler of Mazandaran heard this, he picked some chiefs from among his warriors. He ordered them to gather in a ring and go out to meet that fierce lion. When the mighty Rostam's eyes fell on them, he saw beside the road a thick-branched tree. He tore it up and gripped it like a javelin; the whole army stood there stunned. When he reached them he hurled it, bringing down many riders beneath its branches. He took one man's hand and crushed it, testing him and putting him in pain. The elephant-bodied Rostam laughed at him, and that gathering stared at him, dazed. Even as he laughed he squeezed his grip, draining the blood from the man's hand and the color from his face. The battle-tested man lost his senses and slid down from his horse to the ground. One of them rode to the king of Mazandaran and told him everything he had seen, from end to end. A rider named Kalahur, whose fame set all Mazandaran astir. By nature he was like a raging leopard; he craved nothing but battle. The king called him forward to go meet Rostam, and for his valor set him high as the turning heavens. He told him: go out before the messenger and display your skills one after another. Do it so that Rakhsh flushes with shame and hot tears well up in his eyes from disgrace. Kalahur came like a fierce male lion before the bold and mighty man. He asked his questions like a leopard, then with a grim face offered his hand to him. The proud, elephant-strong Rostam pressed his grip, and from the pain the man's hand turned dark as indigo. Kalahur writhed but kept his fear hidden; by his courage he held a warrant from the sun. Then Kalahur squeezed hard in return, but his own nails fell off like leaves from a tree. Kalahur, with his hand hanging limp, its sinew, skin, and nails all torn away, brought it and showed it and told the king: you cannot hide a pain like this from yourself. Peace will serve you better than war; do not squeeze your own heart into a corner. You have no strength against such a champion; if he can be won over, that is better than tribute. Let us accept terms for the land of Mazandaran and share the burden among low and high alike. Let us make this hard ordeal easy; it is better than letting our lives fall into dread. The mighty Rostam came at once before the king, like a raging lion. The king looked him over, seated him with courtesy, and asked about Kavus and his army. He spoke of the road and its long hardship: how did you fare across the highs and lows? Then he said to him: are you Rostam, who has the chest and arms of a champion? He answered: I am only a servant, if I am even fit for servitude. Where he stands, I am of no account, for he is the champion, the hero, the horseman. Then he handed the king the famous letter, the message of the willful world-seeker. He said: the one whose sword rains down destruction has laid the heads of the defiant at his side. When the king heard the message and read the letter, he grew grim and was left astonished. He said to Rostam: what is all this searching for? Why this pointless talk? Tell him: you are the commander of Iran, even if you have the heart and claws of lions. I am the king of Mazandaran with my army, on a golden throne, a crown upon my head. To summon me before him for nothing was never the custom of kings nor the way of old. Think again, and do not covet the throne of the great, for from such ambition only disgrace comes. Turn your reins back toward the seat of Iran, or a spear will bring your days to an end. If I stir my army from its place, you will not be able to tell your head from your feet. You have surely fallen into delusion; choose one path and lay your bow aside. When I press in hard, face to face, all your talk will come to its end. With a clear mind Rostam studied the king, the army, the nobles, and the champions. The heart of his words did not sit well with him; his will grew sharper for battle with him. When the mighty Rostam rose to take the road, the king ordered robes of honor be brought. He would not accept the garment, horse, or gold; he found that crown and belt beneath his dignity. He left the king's throne, grim, seeing his own star and moon all darkened. He came out from the city of Mazandaran, his head weighed down by those words. When he reached his own king, his grudge-bearing heart boiled with blood. Everything he had seen and heard in Mazandaran he laid out plainly before the king of Iran. Then he told him: do not worry at all; be bold and prepare for war against the demons. Those heroes and warriors of that gathering, know this: they count for nothing in my eyes.

When Rostam returned from Mazandaran, the king at once made ready for battle. He hauled his royal tent out beyond the city and led the whole army toward the open plain. An army so vast the sun vanished from sight, swallowed by a black cloud of dust rising up. No sea could be seen, no plain, no mountain; the ground groaned in agony under the horses' hooves. The army pressed on in that surging march, never pausing, never wasting a moment on the way.

When word reached King Kavus that the demons' army was closing in and pressing hard, he commanded Rostam, son of Zal, to be the first to gird himself for this fight. He ordered Tus and Gudarz, son of Keshvad, and the noble Giv and Gorgin as well, to draw the army up in ranks and set their spearheads and their shields in order. They pitched the royal tent, the king's and his chiefs', out on the plain of Mazandaran. Tus, son of Nozar, stood on the right wing, and the mountains' heart was filled with the wail of the brass trumpets. Gudarz, son of Keshvad, held the left wing, and the whole ground had turned into a mountain of iron. The commander Kavus stood in the center, with troops arrayed in rows on every side. At the front of the army stood the mighty Rostam, who had never once faltered in battle. A famous warrior from Mazandaran came forward, a heavy mace raised on his shoulder, whose name was Juyan; he was a challenger, swinging his mace and roaring out his threats. With the demon king's leave he set out, rushing straight toward Kavus, the army's commander. The armor blazed upon his body, and the heat of his blade scorched the earth. He came and swept past the Iranian ranks, and mountain and plain trembled at his shout. He kept crying: 'Who will fight me, anyone who can stir dust from water?' No one went out to face Juyan; not a vein stirred in them, not a drop of blood. Then the king called out aloud to his sharp-witted champions and men of action: 'Why has this demon left your heads reeling? His shout has darkened your faces with fear.' The brave men gave the king no answer; it was as if Juyan had withered the whole army. Rostam took up his reins and rode to the king, his spearhead sharpened and gleaming. 'Will the king grant me his leave to go out against this troublesome demon?' Kavus said to him: 'This task is yours; no one else in Iran will seek this fight.' When the champion heard these words from him, he came forward like a raging lion. He spurred brave Rakhsh from his place, a thrusting spear gripped in his hand. He rode to the battlefield like a drunken elephant, an elephant with a serpent in its grip. He wheeled his reins, and dust rose up; the field of battle shook at his cry. He said to Juyan: 'You ill-omened creature, you have thrown your name away from among the brave. Now is the time for pity toward you, not the time for battle and its calm.' 'Let whoever gave you birth weep for you, the one who raised you though you turned out to wound.' Juyan replied: 'Do not feel so safe from Juyan and from the cold edge of his dagger, and go.' So that now your mother will weep in grief for this armor and helmet of yours. When the challenger's cry reached Rustam, he let out a roar like an enraged lion. He came up behind him like a whirlwind and aimed his spearhead straight at his belt. He drove the spear into the clasps of the mail and coat, and no fastening or link of the mail held. He tore him from the saddle and lifted him up, turning him like a bird on a roasting spit. He hurled him from his horse's back to the dust, mouth full of blood, his armor ripped to shreds. The brave warriors and heroes of Mazandaran stood there stunned and helpless. The army was broken in spirit and pale of face; from the battlefield rose murmuring and talk. The commander of Mazandaran gave the order to the whole army, from one end to the other, that they should all charge together and give battle, and fight fierce as leopards, every way they knew. From both armies rose the horns and drums; the sky turned indigo, the earth ebony. Like lightning flashing from a dark cloud, fire blazed from mace and blade. The air turned red and black and violet from so many spears and so many kinds of banners. The ground became like a sea of pitch, its waves all daggers, maces, and arrows. The swift horses raced like ships on water, rushing, it seemed, toward their own drowning. Maces rained down on helmet and headpiece like an autumn wind shaking leaves from a willow. For a whole week the two renowned armies stood face to face against each other. On the eighth day, the world-ruler Kavus lifted the royal crown from his head. He came before the lord and God of the world, and stood there weeping on his feet. Then he rubbed his face in the dust and said: O just judge, against these fearless, brazen demons, you are the creator of water and earth. Grant me victory and glory; renew for me the throne of the king of kings. Then he covered his head with the helmet and came back to his famous army. The blare and wail of the trumpet rose, and the army moved from its place like a mountain. The commander ordered Giv and Tus to bring the drums up behind the army. Along with Gudarz and Zangeh of Shavaran, and warriors like Roham and Gorgin, Gorazeh moved forward like a boar, a banner raised high with seven folds. And Farhad and Khorrad and Barzin and Giv advanced with the brave champions. The mighty Rustam plunged first into the center and washed the earth with the blood of warriors. And Gudarz, son of Kashvad, took the right wing with weapons, troops, drums, and baggage. From the right wing to the left of the field, Giv moved through them like a wolf before a lamb. From dawn until the sun grew dark, blood ran through the ditches like water. Shame and the ways of kindness left every face; the sky itself seemed to rain down maces. Everywhere the dead were piled in mounds, and the grass was stained with brains and gore. The horns and war drums thundered like roaring thunder, while the sun slipped behind its ebony veil. Toward the side where the King of Mazandaran stood, the mighty one advanced with a heavy host. Not for a moment did he yield his ground; he planted his feet firmly on the field of vengeance. When the battle hungry demons and elephants turned their faces against him, the world seeker remembered God the sovereign, and entrusted his spear point to the Keeper of all. He drew his mace and raised a roar; the air was filled with the thunder of his cry. That noble commander stirred up such a storm that no demon kept its life, no elephant its wits. The whole plain was littered with the trunks of elephants; for miles all could be seen slain. Then the mighty one called for a spear and charged straight at the King of Mazandaran. When the king's eyes fell on Rostam's spear, no courage or fury was left in him. Rostam struck a spear at his belt, and it drove through into his armored body. But by his magic his body turned into a chunk of mountain, while the Iranian troops stood watching in a crowd. The mighty one was left astonished; he lifted the spear, its point over his shoulder. At that moment King Kavus arrived with elephants, drums, banners, and his army. He said to Rostam: proud hero, what happened, that you have lingered here so long? Rostam answered: when the battle grew fierce and fortune shone with victory, the King of Mazandaran saw me and raised his heavy mace against my neck. I gave the reins to brave Rakhsh and drove my spear point into the belt of his armor. I thought he had toppled over and would fall from the arch of his saddle any moment. Instead, this stone appeared before me; he saw through my intent, no more no less. In this way he became a lump of granite, freed from war and from the trials of manhood. Now this stone must be carried to the camp; perhaps he will come out of the granite. Every strong man among the troops tried his grip and put his hands to the test. But the heavy stone would not rise from its place, with the King of Mazandaran locked inside it. The mighty hero opened his claws; he had no need of such a test. He lifted that stone in such a way that the whole army was left in wonder. They called down blessings on the Creator, and showered gold and jewels over him. He carried the demon before the king's pavilion, threw him down, and handed him over to the Iranians. He said to him: if you can find a way to slip free of me with your tricks and sorcery, do it. Otherwise, with mace and sword and axe I will cut every one of these stones through, from end to end. When the demon heard this, he grew dark as a cloud, steel on his head and armor on his body. Then the mighty warrior seized his hand, laughed, and turned his face toward the king. He said: I have dragged in this piece of a mountain; out of fear of the axe he collapsed into my grip. King Kavus looked at his face and saw that he was not worthy of throne and crown. He recalled the old sufferings, his heart grew wounded, his head full of rage. He ordered the executioner to take the sharp sword and cut the demon's body to pieces. He quickly sent someone to the demon's camp and commanded that all its wealth be brought, the treasure, the throne, the pearls and jewels, the horses, weapons, crowns and belts. They piled it all up like mountains, heap on heap, and the whole army set out together. He gave each man treasure as he deserved, especially those who had toiled the hardest. As for every demon who had been treacherous, those whom the whole company feared, he ordered their heads cut off and thrown wherever there was a road to pass. After that he came to his place of prayer and spoke his secrets with the pure Judge. For a whole week before the holy God he pressed his face to the dust in worship. On the eighth day he opened the treasuries again and gave to everyone who was in need. For another week he continued this way, giving away goods to whoever required them. In the third week, when affairs were set in order, he called for wine, a ruby cup, and the wine-pourer. For a week, wine in hand with his chosen ones, he lingered on in Mazandaran. The mighty warrior said to the king: all kinds of people prove useful in their turn. These deeds of mine were made possible by Owlad, who showed us the true road on every side. Now he has set his hopes on Mazandaran; in honesty I gave him this promise. So first a royal robe of honor is called for, and a sealed pledge and treaty made firm upon it, so that as long as he lives in Mazandaran all the nobles will serve him. When the God-worshiping king heard these words, the wise ruler of the world reached out his hand. He handed the throne of kingship over to Owlad, and from there set his face toward Pars.

When Kavus reached the city of Iran, the sky vanished behind the dust his army raised. The clamor rose up to the sun; women and men came before him, shouting for joy. They dressed all the cities of Iran for celebration, calling for wine, music, and singers. The whole world was made new by the new king; a new moon had risen over Iran. When he sat on the throne, victorious and glad, he threw open the ancient treasuries. He summoned those who dispense the daily bread and set them at the court to hand out gold. A cry went up at the door of the mighty one; the great captains of the army gathered. All of them came before the king with joy, approaching that renowned royal court. The great warrior came, crown on his head, and took a seat on the throne near the king. The lord of the earth, worthy of him, prepared a robe of honor with words of praise. A throne of turquoise with a sheepskin covering, and a royal crown studded with jewels. A suit of gold-woven imperial cloth, with an armband, a torque, and every mark of glory. A hundred moon-faced maidens with golden belts, a hundred with musk-dark hair, radiant and lovely. A hundred horses with saddles and golden fittings, a hundred black-maned mules with golden bridles. Their loads were all royal brocade, from China, from Rome, and from Persia. They also carried a hundred sacks of gold coins, along with dyes, perfumes, and goods of every kind. A ruby cup filled with pure musk, and another of turquoise filled with rosewater. A letter written on silk, scented with musk, ambergris, aloeswood, and fragrance. He handed all this to the world-illuminating commander, granting him afresh the whole land of the south. So that after the reign of King Kavus, no one else would wear the crown on that throne, except the famed Rustam, son of Zal, master of the sword and the mace. Then the king blessed him, saying: may the court never see itself without you. May the hearts of the crowned kings warm to you; may your soul be full of modesty and honor. Rustam bowed low, kissed the throne, prepared to depart, and packed his gear. The sound of drums rose up through the city, bringing a share of joy to everyone. Rustam, son of Zal, set out, and the king took his seat, lighting the world with justice and right ways. He sat joyfully on the golden throne and shut the door on cruelty and injustice. He parceled out the land among the nobles, once he had returned from Mazandaran. At that time he gave the command of the army to Tus, telling him: drive all evil out of Iran. Then he gave Isfahan to Gudarz, granting him full authority and rule over that region. After that he turned to joy and wine, having worked many bold deeds upon the world. With the sword of justice he struck the neck of grief; no thought of death came to his heart. The earth grew full of greenery, water, and dew; the world was adorned like the garden of paradise. It grew rich through justice and safety, and the hand of the demon was bound from evil. Word spread through the world that King Kavus had seized that crown and throne from Mazandaran. All were left in wonder, that King Kavus had achieved such greatness. Everyone, bearing gifts and offerings, lined up in rows at the king's gate. The world became adorned like a paradise, full of justice and heaped with wealth. Now the war of Mazandaran has come to an end; next I bring forward the war with Hamavaran.