Part 3

He left the riverbank and went to Pashang, his tongue full of words but his hand grown short. He told him: renowned king, this war you sought to wage was your own fault. First, the great men of old never saw it right for a king to break his pledge. The world was not cleansed of Iraj's line, and no antidote turned a deadly poison harmless. One is lost, another comes to take his place; the world is never left without a master. Qobad has come and set the crown upon his head; out of old spite he has opened a new door. A horseman has appeared from Sam's line, one whom Zal has named Rostam. He came on like a raging sea-monster, as if his breath could set the earth on fire. He charged up the heights and down the slopes, striking with his mace, his blade, and his stirrups. His mace tore the air into shreds; my life was not worth a single fistful of dust. He ripped our whole army apart; no one in the world had ever seen such a marvel. He spotted my banner off to one side and swung his heavy mace from the saddle. He plucked me from my saddle so easily, as if I weighed no more than a gnat. My belt snapped and my coat's fastening gave way; I tumbled head-first from his grip beneath his feet. No lion ever had such strength, his two feet on the earth and his head in the clouds. It took all our warriors, gathered together, to drag me out from before that mountain of a man. You know, my king, my heart and my grip, my strength and my drive in battle. In his hands I was a mere gnat, and I am left full of dread at that creation. I saw an elephant-bodied man with a lion's claws, with no reason, no learning, no thought or restraint. He gave the reins to that drunken elephant of a horse, an ox-headed mace in his hand. It was as if three hundred thousand clubs had struck that helmeted crown of his. You would say they had forged him from iron, molded him from stone and bronze. The sea before him, the armored tiger-skin, the tearing lion, the furious elephant, all were one to him. He rode on as if it were a day of the hunt; war came to him like a game. Had Sam ever had such power in his blows, not one proud Turkish champion would have been left standing. You have no choice but to seek peace, for your army cannot stand against him. The land that brave Fereydun back then handed over to valiant Tur, was given to me and rightly apportioned; you should never have chased this old grudge. You know that seeing is not like mere hearsay; there is always a hollow gap in what is only heard. A rose garden that blooms today: if you pick the flowers tomorrow they are of no use. Do not leave today's task for tomorrow, for who knows how the times will turn tomorrow? War with Iran looked to you like a game, and from that game the toll on the army only grew. See how much gold-worked harness, gilded helmets and golden shields they took. The Arab steeds with golden bridles too, and the Indian blades in gilded sheaths. More than this, Qobad came and carried off our brave champions into disgrace, men like Kalbad and bold Barman, whose prey used to be nothing but raging lions. And Khazravan, whom Zal broke to pieces, showing him the might of his heavy mace. Shamasas, the vengeful shelter of the army, whom Qaren killed on the field of battle. Besides these champions, more than a hundred thousand were slain in the hour of war. Worse than all of this is the shame and disgrace of defeat, a defeat that can never be mended. If a renowned head was lost through me, it was that wise Aghrirath was killed. I was young, and the days were still kind; today I have reckoned the past as gone. For those same defiant lords came at me, each with a banner streaming behind him. They reminded me of many days gone by, roaring at my back while I fled, wretched and humbled. Now recall nothing of the past; reach out toward peace with Kay Qobad. If some other desire rises in you, armies will close in on you from all four sides. On one flank Rostam, whom even the shining sun cannot match in strength when it comes to battle. On another flank Qaren the warrior, whose eye has never seen defeat. Third, Keshvad of the golden helm, who came to Amol and carried off that army. Fourth, Mehrab, lord of Kabul, who is the king's counselor and ruler of Zabol.