Reign of Nozar

When Nozar mourned his father the king, he lifted the royal crown up to the stars. He gave audience upon Manuchehr's throne, summoned the assembly, and handed out gold. But not much time had passed before the king turned to injustice and cruelty. Everywhere in the world a clamor rose; under this new king the world grew old. As he abandoned his father's ways, he grew harsh toward the priests and the nobles. Human decency became worthless to him, and his heart became a slave to treasure and gold. The farmers, one by one, turned into soldiers, and bold men grew fit to seize the crown. When an uproar rose across the country, the whole world came to a boil. The unjust king grew afraid and sent a messenger to Sam the horseman. Sam was in Sagsar of Mazandaran, and Nozar sent word to him there. 'By the Lord of Saturn, Mars, and the sun, the Creator of both elephant and ant, for whom nothing is hard because it is great, nor easy because it is small, all things are one before His power, whether they be many or few, now, by the Lord of the sun and moon, praise be upon the soul of King Manuchehr, and upon the champion Sam let there be as many greetings as raindrops falling from a cloud, greetings to that world-wise champion, the proud, admired, and worthy hero. May his heart and mind be forever thriving, may his soul be free of every sorrow. Perhaps the champion of the world knows these matters, both open and hidden, that even as the king closed his eyes to sleep, he thought often of Sam son of Nariman. My warmth of heart is in him too, for he is both a champion and a friend to the throne. In the king's own time the guardian of the land is he, the wearer of the shining, blessed crown. Now the kingdom has fallen into turmoil, and matters have passed beyond all measure. If he does not take up his mace of vengeance, this land will be left emptied of its throne.' When the letter reached Sam son of Nariman, he drew a cold sigh up from his heart. At dawn, at the crowing of the rooster, the horns and war drums began to roar. He led out an army from Gorgsar so vast the green sea seemed small beside it. When that army neared Iran, the nobles came out on the road to meet him. On foot they all went before brave Sam and spoke of every kind of grievance, of the injustice of the crowned Nozar, who had recklessly lost his father's path. The world had fallen to ruin by his deeds, and his wakeful fortune had slipped into slumber. He had strayed from the road of wisdom, and the divine glory had departed from him. What harm if Sam, the champion hero, were to sit upon this throne with a bright soul? The world would flourish under his justice; Iran and its foundation stand by him. We would be his servants and obey him, and pledge our very souls to his love. To them Sam the horseman said this: 'When would the Creator accept such a thing from me, that while a Nozar of the royal Kayanid line sits girded upon the throne of kings, I should reach for the crown of kingship? It is absurd, and no one would agree to hear it. Could anyone in the world dare say such a thing? Does anyone hold such nerve in secret? Even if a daughter of King Manuchehr were to sit crowned upon that golden throne, my pillow would be nothing but the dust, and my seeing eye would be content with her. If his heart has turned away from his father's path, not much time has yet gone by; no iron is so rust-eaten yet that it would be hard to make it shine again. I will bring back that divine glory and make the world long for him with love. You must repent of what has passed and renew your pledge from the start. If you fail to find the forgiveness of the Lord of the heavens and the love of King Nozar, in this world the king's wrath awaits you, and in the next, hellfire will be your place.' The nobles repented of what they had done and, one by one, renewed their pledge. When Sam the horseman came to the court, King Nozar came out to welcome him. With the arrival of the renowned champion, the whole world grew young and fresh again. The great men came before Nozar in apology and became his true and lowly servants, heart and soul. Nozar shone bright upon the throne of majesty and sat there in peace, with grace restored. The champion of the world stood on his feet before Nozar, serving him and guiding him as well. He opened up his counsel to Nozar and spoke many wise and worthy words, of the champion Fereydun and King Hushang, and of Manuchehr, the throne's fair adornment, how they had ruled the world with justice and generosity, and never set their eyes on cruelty. He turned Nozar's heart from crookedness to justice, and Nozar did just as Sam advised. He softened the nobles' hearts toward the king, and made everything justice and gracious respect. When all that needed saying had been said, to the proud chiefs and to the king of the flock, Sam departed with Nozar's gifts of honor: a throne, a crown, and a ring, servants and horses with golden harness, and two golden cups full of red jewels. Over this, too, some turns of the sky went by, and heaven felt neither peace nor kindness toward Nozar.

Then the news of King Manuchehr's death reached the army of Turan. They told the suspicious one, point by point, how Nozar's rule was faltering. When Pashang, the leader of the Turks, heard this, he resolved to march on Iran for war. He recalled his ancestor Zadsham, and heaved a bitter sigh in memory of Tur. He spoke of Manuchehr and his army, of its warriors, its commander, and its land. He summoned all the famous men of his realm and the great ones of his army. Men like Arjasp, Garsivaz, and Barman, and Kalbad, a roaring lion in battle. And his general Visa of the fierce grip, who commanded Pashang's forces. He called his son, the world's champion Afrasiab, and the young man came at once. He spoke of Tur and of Salm, saying that vengeance cannot be kept hidden away. To anyone whose mind is not asleep, such a matter is no secret. He said: think what the Iranians did to us, how they all girded themselves for our harm. Now is the day for fury and revenge, the hour to wash our faces with their blood. At his father's words Afrasiab lost all rest, all appetite for food and sleep. He stood before his father, ready of speech, his heart full of vengeance, his belt bound tight. He said: I am the one fit to fight lions; I am the match for Iran's commander. If Zadsham had once raised his sword, he would never have left the world to Garshasp. Had he girded himself for revenge, none but he would have ruled over Iran. Now whatever our forefathers left undone, the seeking of revenge, the schemes, the cunning arts, my sharp blade will settle it all; now is the time of my uprising and upheaval. Eagerness rushed into Pashang's mind when he saw Afrasiab's tall, straight frame, the chest and arm of a lion, the strength of an elephant, casting a shadow that stretched for miles. His tongue was like a cutting blade, his heart deep as the sea, his hand a rain-heavy cloud. So he ordered him to draw the sword of war and march on Iran with Pashang's army. When a commander sees his son is worthy, he may well raise his own head to the sun, for after death his name lives on, since his son becomes the leader who carries it forward. When the plans for war were ready, Aghrirath, the wise guide, came to the palace. He came before his father with a troubled heart, a heart weighed down by worry. He said: O experienced father, you who have risen high in manhood among the Turks, though Manuchehr is gone from Iran, its commander now is Sam, son of Nariman, and there is Garshasp, and Qaren the warrior, besides the other famous men of that gathering. You know what that sword-wielding old wolf did to the mighty Salm and Tur. Our ancestor Zadsham, king of Turan's army, whose helmet once brushed the sky and the moon, spoke no word of this, and never in peace read out the roll of vengeance. It would be better if we stayed still, for this movement will only bring chaos to the land. Pashang answered his son this way: Afrasiab, that valiant crocodile, is a fierce lion on the day of the hunt, a war-elephant in the field of battle. You too must go with him, and in every matter, great or small, give him sound counsel. A grandson who does not seek his forefather's revenge, it is right to call his lineage false. When the frown lifts from the skirts of the clouds, the desert grows moist with rain, mountain and plain become pasture for horses, and the grass grows taller than a hero's shoulders. When the whole world turns green with young shoots, you must pitch your tents upon the plain. Lead the army toward Amol, and ride with a glad heart over grass and flowers. Trample Dehestan and Gorgan under your hooves, and turn their waters ruby-red with blood. From that place Manuchehr the war-seeker turned in vengeance against Tur; he battled Qaren the warrior, and the hero Garshasp from that same company. If only on the field of vengeance you can get your hands on these two proud men of Iran, then gladden the souls of our ancestors, and set the hearts of our enemies ablaze. So he said to the glory-seeking champion: I will make blood flow in rivers for revenge.

When the plain grew green with grass like fine silk, the warriors of Turan tightened their belts for war. An army came from among the Turks and the Chinese, along with the mace-bearers of the eastern lands. It was so vast it had no center and no edge, and Nozar's fortune was no longer young and green. When that army reached the banks of the Oxus, the news came to the son of Fereydun. The forces of the world's ruler marched out, leaving the royal palace for the open field. They set their course toward Dehestan, led by Qaren, ever eager for battle. King Nozar rode behind him, and the whole world was filled with talk of the coming war. When the army reached the plain before Dehestan, you would think the sun had vanished from sight. They pitched the royal pavilion of Nozar on the plain before the fortress. He did not begin the fight at Dehestan, and only a short while passed before word arrived. Word that Afrasiab, marching into the land of Iran, had chosen two commanders from among his nobles. Shamasas and brave Khazravan; he handed over to them the horsemen of his army. Some thirty thousand fighting men set out, all fit and ready for battle. They turned toward Zabolestan, driven by hatred to strike at Dastan. News came that Sam, son of Nariman, had died, and that brave Zal was building a tomb for him. At this Afrasiab was overjoyed, for he saw that fortune had fallen into a sleep in his favor. He advanced, and when he reached Dehestan, he raised his pavilion facing the enemy. Who could ever count that army? Reckon it at four hundred times a thousand men. It was as if every stone and grain of sand had boiled up; the whole desert swarmed like ants and locusts. With King Nozar there were a hundred and forty thousand mounted men ready for war. Afrasiab surveyed his army, and at nightfall he dispatched a swift courier on a camel. He wrote a letter to Peshang: 'We sought good fortune, and it has come into our grasp.' 'If we go hunting Nozar's whole army, they are our prey, to be trampled under hoof.' 'Besides, Sam has left the king's court, and surely he will not come to this battle.' 'Zal the golden is busy building his tomb; he has neither the strength nor the wings for war.' 'It was he I feared in the land of Iran; now that he is gone, let us take our revenge on Iran!' 'By now Shamasas must be seated in Nimruz, wearing the crown that lights up the world.' 'When action is called for, it is good to take counsel with a wise man and a friend.' 'When a man grows lazy at the time for action, he will never find such an opportunity again.' The swift camel spread its wings, as it were, and sped to the commander whose glory shone like the sun.

When dawn lifted its head above the mountains, the advance guard reached the outskirts of Dahestan. Two leagues lay between the two armies, all decked out and ready for war. There was a Turk named Barman who could say to any sleeper: 'Stay awake.' He came and surveyed the enemy host, and saw the royal pavilion of King Nozar. He went to the commander of the Turanian army and pointed out that host and its encampment. Then he said to the vigilant commander: 'How long must we keep our courage hidden?' 'With the king's leave, I will go like a lion and seek battle from that gathered host.' 'Let them see plainly what my hand can do, and after me call no one else a champion.' The wise Aghrirath said: 'If any harm should come to Barman, the hearts of our marchlords will be broken, and this whole host will lose its spirit. Choose instead some man with no name, one whose loss will bring no later regret.' The face of Pashang's son creased with anger; Aghrirath's words shamed him. With a scowling face he told Barman: 'Put on your armor and string your bow. You will be the pride of that assembly, and there will be nothing to gnaw your teeth over.' Barman rode out to the field of battle and called out toward Qaren, son of Kaveh: 'From this army of the renowned Nozar, whom do you have to fight me?' Qaren looked over the brave men there, wondering who among them would seek the fight. None of the famous warriors answered, except the aged, valiant Qobad. The wise commander grew grim, boiling with anger at his brother's words. Tears of fury filled his eyes: in so vast a host, this was cause for wrath, that out of so many young fighting men, only an old man came forward to face him. Qaren's heart was wounded by Qobad, and he spoke out among the brave: 'Your years have now reached a point where you should pull your hand back from war. You are the wise steward of the army; the king's every plan turns upon you. If a single white hair turns ruby with blood, all these brave men will despair. Defeat will fall upon this battlefield, and every loyal heart will fill with grief.' Now hear how Qobad answered in that assembly, that he would fight beside Qaren: 'Know, my brother, that the body belongs to death, and the warrior's head is made to wear the helmet. From the blessed days of Manuchehr until today my body has been wasting away. No living soul crosses over to heaven forever; each is prey, and death is its hunter. One man's life is taken by the sword when two armies clash in fury. His body goes to the vulture and the ravening lion, his head to the spear and the cutting blade. Another's hour comes to him in his bed; either way, without a doubt, one must depart. If I leave this wide world, my brother remains, with his greatness and his line. Let him build a royal tomb and show me kindness after I am gone. My head anointed with camphor, musk, and rosewater, my body laid down in eternal sleep; entrust me to that place, my brother, and farewell. May wisdom always be your warp and weft.' He said this, took his spear in hand, and went to the field like a maddened elephant. Barman said to the old warrior: 'Your hour has brought your head to meet me. You should have stayed behind, for fate itself is already at war with your life.' Qobad answered Barman thus: 'For a good while the world dealt fairly with me. A man can die only where his hour comes; when that hour arrives, it comes at once, beyond doubt.' He spoke, then spurred his black horse Shabdiz, giving rein to his eager, fiery heart. From dawn until the sun cast its long shadows, they pressed one against the other with all their strength. In the end Barman prevailed and charged, thundering, across the field of battle. He struck a javelin into Qobad's back and loosened the belt at his waist. Head down, he tumbled from his horse; so perished that lionhearted old chief. Barman went to Afrasiab, both cheeks bright with glory and honor. He was given a robe of honor such as no lesser man had ever received from the great. When Qobad was slain, the battle-seeking Qaren led his army forward and set his face to fight. The two armies were like the China Sea; you would think the very earth had begun to heave. The flash of diamond-bright blades turned ruby, glazed with blood. All around it was like a sea of water on which the sun rains down scarlet. The heart of the clouds filled with the wailing of war drums; the souls of blades ran with scarlet blood. Wherever Qaren drove his horse, his steel blazed like the sacred fire of Azargoshasp. You would think the diamond blade scattered coral; but no coral, in that revenge it scattered lives. When Afrasiab saw this from Qaren, he spurred his horse and led his army against him. They fought a battle until night rose over the mountains, and their hearts never wearied of vengeance. When darkness fell, the battle-eager Qaren led his army back toward Dahestan. He came to Nozar's pavilion, his heart torn from its place by his brother's blood. Nozar saw him and let his tears pour down from eyes that had known no sleep. He said: 'Since the death of Sam the horseman I have not seen a soul so stricken with grief. May Qobad's soul shine like the sun, and may this world be yours forever. There is no escape from this war or from our death; the earth offers no cradle but the grave.' Qaren said: 'From the day I was born I have given my skilled body over to death. Fereydun set this crown upon my head so that I might tread the earth to avenge Iraj. I have not yet unfastened that belt, nor have I laid down my steel sword. My brother, that man of gravity and wisdom, is gone; in the end I too shall pass this way. May you live in joy, for today Pashang's son pressed the battle hard. When part of his army was destroyed, he called up fresh troops from those still rested. He saw me with my ox-headed mace and came, hungry for battle, close to me. I bore down on him so hard that I came level with his very eyes. He worked some sorcery against me in the fight, until even clear eyes lost their color and light. Night came and the whole world turned dark, and my arm grew numb from all the striking. You would think the world was reaching its end, and the very sky sinking beneath the earth. We had to turn back from the battlefield, for the dust of the army rose and the night went black.'

Both armies rested afterward, then on the second day the warriors marched out again. The Iranians drew up their ranks, arranged for war as befits a royal host. When Afrasiab saw that army, he struck the brazen war drum and formed his lines. The dust of the horsemen so filled the world that you would think the sun had gone into hiding. The battle cry rose from both sides; you could no longer tell the plain from the mountain. So fiercely the armies clashed that blood poured out like a flowing river. Wherever Qaren charged into the fray, blood rained down through the black dust. Wherever brave Afrasiab rose up, the plain turned all to blood, a river of water. At last Nozar came out from the heart of his army, seeking battle near him. They hurled spear against spear, each raising his lance-point at the other, so that no snake ever coiled and struck like this; when do kings ever wage such a fight? So it went until the dark night closed in, and Pashang's son grew helpless before him. The Iranian army suffered greater losses, while on the other side the assault kept coming. In desperation they turned away, leaving their dead scattered across the plain. Nozar's heart was full of pain and sorrow, for his crown had lost its lucky star to the dust. When the sound of the war drums died down on the plain, he ordered Tus to come before him. Tus came, and Gostaham with him, their lips sighing and their souls full of grief. He told them what pain lay in his heart; he spoke a while, and wept a while. He recalled the counsel of his noble father, his heart bleeding, his lips heavy with cold sighs. How his father had warned him that from the Turks and China an army would come against the land of Iran, and that they would fill his heart with grief, and bring much harm upon his army. Now the sign of the king's words has come true; that day of the proud warriors has arrived. No one has read in the records of the famous that anyone drove out so vast a Turkish army. You must go toward Pars, bring away the women of the household, and return. From there withdraw toward Mount Zaveh, and lead the people up to Mount Alborz. For now, go from here to Sepahan, and slip away secretly from this army. They would be disheartened by your leaving, and wounded even more by this defeat. Perhaps only one or two of Fereydun's line will carry their lives out of this countless throng. I do not know if there will be any meeting after this; let us fight our last, this one night. Keep scouts alert by night and day; watch the affairs of the world with a clear mind. If they give bad news of this army, the glory of this kingship will grow dim. Do not let your hearts be too heavy with sorrow, for such evil had to come from the high wheel of fate. For one, the hour of death comes in battle; another sits glad beneath the crown of greatness. The slain body becomes one with the dead; it struggles a moment, then finds its ease. He gave them all his counsel as was fitting, then he drew out that royal hand. He took his two sons into his arms, and tears streamed from the king's eyes.

After that the army rested for two days, and on the third, when the sun that lights the world rose bright, the king had no chance to fight, yet out of desperation he had to make war. Facing Nozar's army stood Afrasiab, like a boiling sea, his forces a flooding river. From the royal pavilion came a roar, mingled with the wail of war drums and Indian bells. The kettledrum sounded from the king's court, and they set helmets of iron on their heads. In the pavilion of the brave Afrasiab, no head found rest in sleep. All night long the army prepared, sharpening their swords and javelins. From mountain to mountain the armored men marched out with heavy maces. The mountains were lost among the sand and rocks; from sea to sea they stretched their measuring lines. Qaren took his place in the center, to stand as a pillar for the army beside the king. On the king's left rose the warrior Taliman, and on the right stood the tireless Shapur. From dawn until the sun wheeled across the sky, no mountain, sea, or plain could be seen. You'd say the heart of every sword swelled with joy, while the earth beneath the horses groaned aloud. When the spears cast their shadows over the ground, a breach opened toward the heart of the host. When darkness fell upon their fortune, the Turks gained the upper hand over them. On the side where tireless Shapur stood, whatever had been massed was scattered. Shapur held on until he was killed, and the fortune of the Iranians was overturned. Pressed by the throng of war seeking Turks, they turned their faces toward Dehestan. Day and night there was fighting at its passes, and this too dragged on for some while. When Nozar withdrew into the fortress, the road for mounted battle was closed to him. Afrasiab arranged his horsemen; his haste for battle turned to a pause. He called to mind a renowned Turk, a commander named Karokhan of the Visa line. He ordered him to march toward Pars, taking the road through the desert. For on that side lay the Iranians' baggage and families; let this vile man seek out the baggage. When Qaren heard that Afrasiab had dispatched an army at the hour of sleep, he boiled with fury, his heart tightened, and he came to Nozar like a raging leopard. He said: that dishonorable man, the king of Turan, look what he has done to the king of Iran. Toward the veiled women of our army he has sent a countless force on the road. If he seizes the household of Magar, he will bring ruin upon these famous men. Our heads will sink into shame; someone must ride after Karokhan. You have food and running water, and an army whose souls hold love for you. Stay here and do not trouble your heart, for courage befits a king. Now I will go after this army and block their every path. Nozar said to him: this is not wise; the army has no commander like you. Gostaham and Tus went after the baggage the moment the drum's voice arose. They will reach the household soon and set their affairs in order, as is right. They sat at the table and called for wine, and for a while cleared their hearts of sorrow. Then they went to Qaren's tent, their eyes weeping like the clouds of winter. They weighed the matter from every angle and finally settled on one plan: that they must set out for Pars and not linger in this place. For if the veiled women of Iran's army become captives to the cruel enemy, who then would take up a spear on this plain, and who would find any rest or place to sit? So Shidush and Keshvad and Qaren together debated this plan, its greater and lesser points. When half of the long night had passed, the brave men prepared to set out. On this side Gazhdaham guarded the fort, with vigilant warriors beside him. And on that side of the fort stood Barman with his army, waiting on the road with drums and elephants. By whose hand the warrior Qaren had been wounded, so he had girded himself to avenge his brother's blood. He fell upon Barman like a lion, giving him no time to seek escape. He drove a spear into his belt so hard that it tore apart his frame and every joint. The whole enemy army was crushed in spirit; each man broke away from the next. The commander set his face toward Pars, together with the renowned, war seeking army.

When Nozar heard that Qaren had left, he turned and rode after him at once, burning to catch up. He galloped hoping to survive this evil day, hoping the turning sky would not trample him underfoot. When Afrasiab learned of him, that he had set his face toward the desert, he gathered his army and set out at a run, rushing after him like a lion, burning to strike. When he closed in tight on the king, he found both a chase and a battle at hand. Just as he came, so he sought a way to strike a head from its crown, a head from its shoulders. From dark night until the sun rose high, Afrasiab kept wheeling in combat with Nozar. The world went dim with the dust of the horsemen, and in the end Nozar was taken captive. He and twelve hundred of his famous men, as if the earth had no room left to hold them. They searched hard for a way and tried to flee, yet they only tangled themselves deeper in the snare of doom. Such an army, bound in chains, he brought before the mighty king. Even if the heavens sat and shared their secret with you, you would still find no escape from their turning. The same sky grants the crown and lofty throne; the same sky brings darkness and misery. It behaves like an enemy and like a friend by turns: sometimes you get its kernel, sometimes only its husk. Even if your head brushes against the black clouds, in the end your dwelling place from it is the dust. After that Afrasiab gave the command: through cave and mountain, desert and water, search until you find Qaren the warrior, so that he does not slip free from this gathering. When he heard that Qaren had left before all this, he grew enraged over the matter of the royal harem. That affair filled Afrasiab with grief; food, rest, and sleep all deserted him, because Qaren had escaped him with his life. He writhed in that pain and grew suspicious. He said to the renowned Visa: 'Steel your heart against the death of your son, for when Qaren son of Kaveh joins battle, even the leopard slows its haste before him. You must go with your belt bound tight, with an army made ready and full of skill.'

Vise, the commander of Turan's army, set out with a renowned host thirsty for revenge. Before he could reach Qaren, he found his dear son already killed and thrown down. Many of Turan's brave warriors and champions also lay strewn along the road with him. The banner was torn, the war drum overturned, faces pale like sandarac gum, shrouds red like tulips. Word reached Qaren about Vise, that he had come with victory and splendor. Qaren sent the Arabian horses toward Nimruz, and he himself, that lighter of the world, moved on. Grieving for his son, the warrior Vise turned toward Pars swift as the wind. When Qaren drew his forces onto the plain from Pars, an army appeared on his left flank. Through the dust a black banner emerged: the commander of the Turks at the head of his troops. Both sides drew up their ranks, and the eager warriors advanced. From the center of the army, Vise cried out: 'Your crown and throne of greatness are gone with the wind.' From Qanuj to the borders of Kabulistan, and as far as Bost and Zabulistan, all of it, from end to end, is in our grasp; the paintings and designs on the palaces are ours. Where will you find any resting place, now that your king has been taken captive? He answered: 'I am Qaren; I will throw the rug into the flowing water,' 'I did not come out of fear, nor for talk; I came seeking vengeance against your son.' 'Now that I have emptied my heart of revenge on him, I have prepared war and vengeance for you.' Black dust rose on left and right; neither the sky's face stayed bright nor the moon. The two armies clashed with one another, and blood poured out like a running river. Battle-hungry Qaren advanced on Vise, and Vise turned his face away from the fight. Many warriors were killed, and Vise grew bewildered in the fray. When misfortune came upon Vise from a shattering star, warlike Qaren did not pursue him. Vise went on to Afrasiab, his lashes brimming with tears from grief for his son.

Then others set out from the city of Arman, marching in fury toward Zabolestan. Shamasas, who had crossed the Jeyhun, turned his face toward Sistan and pressed on swiftly. Khazravan came with thirty thousand swordsmen, Turkish nobles skilled with the blade. Alert, they marched to the Hirmand River, armed with swords and maces, and high fortune. Grieving and in pain for his father, Zal was building a tomb at Gurab. In the city was the warrior Mehrab, a man of bright, wakeful mind who gave himself no rest. A messenger came from him and set out to reach Shamasas. He came down before the royal tent and gave Shamasas warm greetings from Mehrab. He said: May the vigilant king of Turan's army live forever, crowned. Our lineage runs back to Zahhak the Arab; I take little joy in this kingdom of Fereydun's line. I bought my life through ties of allegiance to them; I saw no other way but this. Now this house and seat are mine, and Zabolestan is in my hands. Since Dastan went off in mourning here, to raise a tomb for Sam the horseman, my heart is glad at his sorrow; I hope I will never have to see his face again. I ask the famous commander for time, so that I may send a swift dromedary rider. I will send a shrewd and hurrying man to Afrasiab. So that he may learn my hidden purpose, and the talk of the speaker may be cut short. I will send a fitting tribute, and whatever else is worthy of a king. If he tells me to come to him, I will stand nowhere but before his throne. I will hand over the whole kingdom to him, and always keep my heart glad for his sake. I will not put the commander's body through hardship; I will send him treasure heaped in every form. On this side he won the commander's heart, and on that side he reached for a plan. He sent a swift courier to Zal, saying: Become a bird, spread your wings and fly. Tell Dastan what you have seen of these events, and tell him not to fret over coming. For two commanders have come here to fight, a Turkish army like a plain full of leopards. They have marched two armies to the Hirmand; I have shackled their feet with gold. If you delay your coming even a moment, the will of the ill-wishing enemy may prevail.

The messenger reached Zal, and his heart flared up like fire. He turned toward the field where Mehrab was, racing there with a warlike army. When he saw Mehrab still holding firm, and found wisdom and good judgment in his mind, he said to himself: now why fear this army? Whether it is Khazravan before me or a fistful of dust, it makes no difference. Then the glory-seeker turned toward the city, and when he entered it, he said to Mehrab: you are a shrewd man, admirable in all you do. Now I will go out into the dark night and reach for their blood. They will learn that I have come back, my heart full and set on revenge. He slung a mighty bow over his arm, with an arrow as thick as a tree branch. He watched to see where the enemy champions were, then sent a straight shaft flying from the bow. He loosed three arrows at three spots, and the cry of battle and alarm rose up. When night turned to day and the army gathered, everyone looked at those arrows. They said: these arrows are Zal's alone; no one else draws a shaft like this on his bow. When the bright sun climbed overhead, the roar of drums rose from the plain. In the city, kettledrums and trumpets sounded, and cymbals and Indian bells rang out. The army marched out and spread onto the open plain, bringing out the royal pavilion and the elephants. Army closed against army, and the plain turned black as a mountain from the dust. Khazravan charged with mace and shield, launching an attack on Zal the golden-haired. He struck a mace blow to Zal's shining chest, and that famous warrior's armor was split apart. When the king of Zabulistan was hard pressed, the champions of Kabulistan rushed forward. Brave Zal put on a coat of mail and entered the fight like a lion. In his hand he held his father's mace, his head filled with rage, his heart with fury. He brought that ox-headed mace down on Khazravan's skull, and the ground grew mottled with blood like a leopard's back. He struck him down, trampled him, and left him behind, then rode out ahead of the army onto the field. He called Shamasas to come out, but he did not, for his blood had run cold with fear. Amid the dust of battle he found Kalbad and swung his steel toward his neck. When the swordsman saw Zal's mace, he tried to make himself vanish from sight. Zal, still mounted, strung his bow and sent a shaft driving easily into him. It struck Kalbad's belt, right on its steel-linked clasp, and pinned his waist to the saddle. The army's heart burned with grief for Kalbad. When these two were laid low in battle, Shamasas lost heart, his face turning pale. Shamasas and that battle-ready army broke off from the fight and turned back. Then the brave warriors of Zabulistan pressed forward alongside the king of Kabulistan. So many lay slain on the battlefield that you would think the world had grown too narrow for the army. They fled toward the king of the Turks, their weapons loosened and their belts undone. When Shamasas reached the open desert, Qaren, son of Kaveh, appeared on the road, who had turned back from Visa's army after killing his dear son in disgrace. The two armies clashed head-on: Shamasas against the vengeful Qaren. Qaren realized who they were, that they were the remnants gathered from the Zabulistan campaign. He sounded the brazen trumpet and blocked the road, and army drove into army. From that army of wounded and captured men, the dust rose up to the shining sun. Shamasas, fleeing with a few men, escaped from that dark storm of battle.

News reached the king of the Turks: the world had lost those famous champions. His heart filled with fire from grief and pain, and blood from his liver wet both his cheeks. He raged and cried, 'Where is Nozar? I will take revenge for Viseh from him.' 'What choice is there but to spill his blood and set a fresh vengeance in motion?' He ordered the executioner: 'Drag him off, so he learns to lose his head.' When Nozar the commander understood, he knew his days had run short. An army full of uproar and murmuring turned its face toward King Nozar. They bound his arms tight with rope and dragged him from his place before the crocodile of a king. They brought him from his tent to the plain, humiliated, bareheaded and barefoot, his fortune overturned. When Afrasiab saw him from afar he loosed his tongue, recalling the old feud of their ancestors. He began with Tur and Salm, washing his heart and eyes clean of any shame before kings. He told him, 'Whatever evil comes to you is deserved.' He spoke, flew into a rage, and called for his sword. He struck off the head of the crowned king and flung his body down in the dust in disgrace. So perished the heir of King Manuchehr, and Iran was left empty of throne and crown. O learned man of deep intelligence, do not wrap yourself in the cloak of greed. For throne and crown have seen many like you; how many such tales will you keep hearing? You rushed to reach a certain height, and there it ended, having granted your wish. What do you seek from this dark, wretched dust, which will only return you to it, grieving? For even if the turning sky sets your saddle high, in the end the dust is your pillow. Then they dragged the prisoners forward in disgrace, and the captives begged for their lives. When Aghrirath, the gifted one, saw this, his heart burned in his chest like fire. He kept saying: so many innocent heads will be severed from their bodies by the king's command. He came crying out to plead, and put his case with reasoned judgment to the mighty king. 'So many proud warriors and horsemen, without helmet or armor, not on the battlefield,' 'to be captured and killed is not noble; where there is a height, there is also a descent.' 'It would be fitting to spare their lives; hand them over to me in chains just the same.' 'I will turn a cave into a prison for them and set wise men to guard them.' 'In Sari they will live out their days in misery. Pull your hand back from bloodshed, do not press for this so hard.' He spared their lives at his brother's words, once he heard, with pain, of his opposition to the killing. He ordered them taken to Sari, hauled off in fetters and nailed shackles and disgrace. When this was done, he prepared to set out; the earth began to vanish beneath the horses' hooves. From near Dehestan he marched toward Ray, driving the horses hard until they sweated with strain. He set the royal crown upon his head and, by handing out gold, opened doors to himself.

News reached Gostaham and Tus that the royal glory had gone dark. With a sharp sword, amid weeping, they severed that crowned head, and everything changed. They tore their hair and clawed their faces; a great cry of grief rose up from Iran. The heads of the proud lords were covered in dust, every eye full of blood, every garment torn. They turned toward Zabolestan, their tongues praising the king, their souls seeking him. They came to Zal with mourning and pain, their cheeks smeared with blood, their heads with dust. Crying: 'What sorrow! Brave one, king, Nowzar, witness, wearer of the crown, great one, master!' Guardian of Iran and king of the world, chief of the crowned, the shield of the noble. Now the dust searches your head for its crown; the earth breathes in the blood of kings. Any grass that grows on that ground and soil bows its head in shame before the sun. We will demand justice and we will weep; we will mourn for a father's spilled blood. The mark of Fereydun lived on in him; the earth was a slave to the hooves of his horse. In misery and disgrace they cut his head from his body, before a gathering of the famed. Draw out your poison-tempered blades; come, seek revenge, and cut down the enemy. Surely the heavens mourn with us in this grief, and out of love rain blood from their eyes. You too, fill your eyes with blood; strip off every garment of ease and comfort. For when a king's blood cries for vengeance, no eye should be dry, no heart free of rage. The whole assembly wept in sorrow, as if roasting over a fierce fire. Zal swore that until the day of resurrection my sharp sword will never see its sheath. My prancing pale horse waits beneath my throne; the spear-tipped lance is my standing tree. The stirrup shall be my resting place, a dark helmet the only cap upon my head. In this vengeance there is no rest, no sleep; my two eyes are dry, without a stream of tears. May the soul of that great king of the world shine bright among the noble ones. By the justice of the Creator of the world, may your hearts find peace in faith and law. We were all born from our mothers to die; we accept it, and we have bared our necks to it. As the warriors hastened toward revenge, the captive lords in Sari heard the news. Their food, their rest, their sleep deserted them; they grew full of fear of Afrasiab. Then a message went to Aghrirath: 'O high-minded lord of good name, By your word we are still alive in this world; every one of us is your servant. You know that Zal is there in Zabolestan, alongside the king of Kabolestan, With warriors like Barzin and Qaren, like Khorrad and Keshvad, breakers of armies. They are champions with far-reaching arms; they will not hold their hands back from Iran's cause. When those warriors turn their reins this way and bring their spear-points into view, Afrasiab will grow furious at it; his heart will rush to deal with the captives. Then he will bring a whole flock of the innocent down into the dust, for the sake of a crown. If wise Aghrirath sees fit, let him free these captives from their chains. We will scatter across the world and raise our voices before the great, We will sing your praise before the nobles and offer our prayers before God as well.' The wise Aghrirath answered: 'When could such words ever be right? My enmity would come out in the open, and that devilish man's fury would boil over. I will devise a different plan for this, one that will not turn my brother against me in blood-feud. If Zal grows fierce of claw and brings an army against us to war, When he brings his host near Sari, I will hand all of you over to Zal. I will withdraw to Amol and not join the fight; I will bring shame upon my good name.' The nobles of Iran, at his words, bowed their faces to the ground. When they had finished blessing him, they sped a swift rider out of Sari. He raced to Zal, son of Sam, and carried the message from those famed men: 'The Lord of the world has had mercy on us; the wise Aghrirath has become our ally. We have laid down a firm and solemn pact and settled the whole matter upon it. That when Zal, the free-hearted man, comes from Iran seeking battle with him, The noble Aghrirath of good fortune will lead his troops from Amol toward Rey, So that from the claws of this dragon a whole world of people may come out alive and free.' When the swift rider reached Zabolestan, the messenger came before Zal. Zal summoned the nobles and the warriors and delivered the champions' message to them. Then he said: 'O commanders, war-leopards and men of renown, Who is the man of frontier-guarding heart, his heart hardened black by courage in battle, A buyer of this war and this charge, ready to lift his head to the sun?' Keshvad set his hand to that task; 'I am the one,' he said, and reached out for the mission. Blessed Zal praised him: 'May you be joyful as long as the moon and years endure.' An army of battle-seeking warriors set out from Zabol toward Amol. When the host marched out from Zal, word reached the well-meaning Aghrirath. He left all the captives in Sari, sounded the brass trumpet and led his army off. When blessed Keshvad reached Sari, the key to those chains appeared. He readied a horse for each of them and rode from Sari toward Zabolestan. When word reached Zal, son of Sam, that Keshvad had returned in glory, He gave a special treasure to the poor and gave his own robe to the messenger. When Keshvad drew near Zabol, Zal of the golden hair went out to greet him fittingly. He wept long over those wretched captives who had been left in the lion's claws. Then for the famous king Nowzar he poured dust on his head and wept bitterly. He brought them honored into the city and adorned the lofty palaces for them. He treated them just as they had been in Nowzar's day, when they had crown and throne and royal cap. Zal prepared every provision and comfort, and that army was left wanting for nothing.

When Aghrirath came from Amol to Rey, King Afrasiab learned of what he had done. He said to him: What is this you have stirred up, mixing bitterness into what was sweet? I ordered you, my brother: kill them all. War is no place for reason or careful thought. A fighter's mind should not turn to wisdom, and there is no room for honor in battle. A warrior does not surrender his head to reason, for vengeance and wisdom never blend together. Aghrirath answered Afrasiab: A man needs at least some shame and honor. Whenever you have the power to do evil, fear God and do harm to no one. This crown and belt have seen many like you; they will not stay loyal to anyone forever. One of them was full of fire, the other full of wisdom. How could wisdom ever suit a demon's mind? The commander flared up like a drunken elephant, and in reply he reached for his sword. He cut his own brother in two at the waist, such a stone-hearted, reckless man he was. When news of the noble Aghrirath's fate reached Zal, the great horseman, he said: Now the head of Afrasiab's fortune will go dark, and his throne will fall to ruin. He blew the brass horn and strapped on the war drums, and drew up his army bright as a rooster's eye. The commander set his face toward Pars, marching full of anger and a heart bent on revenge. From sea to sea the land was packed with men, and the faces of moon and sun were veiled in dust. When Afrasiab heard the news that warlike Zal had laid the ground for battle, he brought his army toward the plains of Rey, arrayed for war, and stood his ground firmly. The scouts fought on night and day; you would think the whole world had closed in on them. Many champions were killed on both sides, all of them famous, battle-hungry men.