Rostam and the Lion

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.