English
Gordafarid Takes the Field
When the daughter of Gazhdaham learned
that the leader of that company had been lost,
she was a woman who rode like a warrior,
always famous in the thick of battle.
Her name was Gordafarid;
no mother had ever borne one like her.
She felt such shame at what Hojir had done
that her tulip cheeks went black as pitch.
She put on the armor of the mounted fighters;
there was no time in that moment to delay.
She hid her long hair beneath the coat of mail
and tied a Roman helmet fast upon her head.
She came down from the fortress like a lion,
a belt at her waist, a swift horse beneath her.
She swept before the army like dust
and let out a war cry loud as thunder:
Where are your heroes and your warriors,
your brave men and your seasoned commanders?
When Sohrab, the lion-slayer, saw her,
he smiled and bit his lip.
He said: Here comes another wild ass
straight into the trap of the master of sword and strength.
He put on his mail and set upon his head
a Chinese helmet, and moved like the wind.
He rode roaring toward Gordafarid;
and when the lasso-throwing girl saw him,
she strung her bow and let the arrows fly;
not even a bird could pass before her shots.
She rained arrows down on Sohrab,
fighting left and right like a mounted champion.
Sohrab looked on and felt disgraced;
he grew furious and charged fiercely into the fight.
He raised his shield above his head and pressed forward;
from the clash, blood ran in streams.
When Gordafarid saw Sohrab
blazing forward like fire,
she slung her strung bow over her arm,
and her steed reared up toward the high clouds.
She turned her spear point toward Sohrab,
putting fury into rein and lance.
Sohrab flared up and turned savage as a leopard,
for his foe was cunning in the fight.
He gathered the reins and wheeled his horse,
and came on like a bolt of sacred fire.
Then he snatched up his polished spear
and bore down on her like smoke.
He struck at Gordafarid's belt
and tore her mail apart, link by link.
He lifted her from the saddle like a ball,
as a polo mallet sends the ball flying.
As Gordafarid twisted on the saddle,
she drew a sharp blade from her side
and cut his spear clean in two.
She settled back in the saddle, and the dust rose.
She was no match for him in open combat,
so she turned her face away and quickly fled.
The commander gave his dragon-horse its head,
and in his rage he seemed to blot out the daylight.
When he came roaring up close behind her,
he reached out and lifted the helmet from her head.
Her hair broke free from the fastenings of the mail,
and her face shone bright as the sun.
Sohrab realized she was a girl,
her head and hair worthy of a crown.
He was astonished and said: If the army of Iran
sends such women onto the battlefield,
then their fighting horsemen on the day of war
must surely raise dust up into the clouds.
He loosed the coiling lasso from his saddle strap,
threw it, and caught her round the waist.
He told her: Do not try to slip from me;
why do you seek battle, you moon-faced one?
No wild ass like you ever fell into my snare;
you will not escape my grip, so do not struggle.
Gordafarid saw she was caught fast
and found no cure but a clever ruse.
She turned her face to him and said: O brave one,
lion-like among the bold,
two armies are watching this fight of ours,
watching our maces, our swords, our onslaught.
If I now uncover this face and hair,
your army will be filled with gossip,
that on the field of war, against a mere girl,
you raised such dust into the clouds.
It is better if we settle this in secret;
keeping one's wits is the mark of a great man.
Do not invite blame upon me from every side,
here between two ranks of drawn-up troops.
The army and the fortress are now yours to command;
no need to seek battle over such a peace.
The fortress, the treasure, the keeper, all are yours;
when you come, arrange things as your heart desires.
When she showed her face to Sohrab,
she parted her ruby lips over pearl-white teeth.
She was a garden set within paradise;
no farmer's cypress grew as tall as she.
Her two eyes those of a deer, her brows two bows;
you would say she was ever blossoming.
She told him: Now do not turn back from this,
for you have seen my time on the battlefield.
Do not set your heart on this fortress wall;
it stands no higher than the towering clouds,
yet the blow of my mace has felled its match;
no one has driven a lance against my neck.
Gordafarid turned her reins around
and led her proud steed up toward the fort.
She rode on with Sohrab beside her,
and came to the gateway of Gazhdaham's fortress.
Gordafarid flung the wall's gate open
and dragged her battered, bruised body into the fort.
They shut the fortress gate and grew sorrowful;
their hearts were full of grief, their eyes ran with blood.
Over the torment of Gordafarid and Hojir,
young and old alike were full of pain.
They said: O good-hearted lion-woman,
the whole company's heart was sick with worry for you.
Yet you sought battle, and cunning, and craft too;
no shame has come upon our line from your deeds.
Gordafarid laughed long and hard,
climbed the wall, and gazed out at the army.
When she saw Sohrab still on his saddle,
she said: O king of the Turks of China,
why trouble yourself? Turn back now,
from this coming and from the field of war.
She laughed and mockingly told him:
Turks find no bride among the people of Iran.
So it was, and no fortune from me was yours;
do not grieve yourself with this pain.
Surely you yourself are no Turk at all,
for you seem worthy only of the praise of the great.
With that strength, those arms, those shoulders and neck,
you have no equal among the champions.
But when word reaches the Shah
that a hero has led an army out of Turan,
the king of kings and Rostam will set out;
you will not stand against the mighty one.
Not one of your army will be left alive,
and I do not know what evil will fall upon you.
It grieves me that such shoulders and such a frame
must be hidden away from the leopards.
It would be better for you to obey,
and turn your famous face toward Turan.
Do not put too much faith in your own arm;
the foolish ox is eaten because of its own flesh.
When Sohrab heard this he felt disgraced,
for the fortress had fallen too easily into his grasp.
Below the fortress there was a place
over which the fort stood high on its foundation.
He gave all that land and its dwellings to plunder;
at one stroke he washed his hand clean of mercy.
He said: Today it has grown late;
our hand is cut short from the fight.
At dawn I will raise dust from this wall,
and they will feel the sting of the day of battle.