The Three-Day Battle

He gave the order and the trumpets blared; the army surged forward from its place like a sea. A cloud of dust rose and a roar went up, until men with the sharpest ears went deaf. Diamond spearheads gleamed in the dark dust like fire behind a curtain of blue sky. Spears struck the polished helmets, yet no blow could break through and hold its mark. For three days the fighting raged in that place; the hooves of horses ground down human heads. Thirst weakened the arms of the heroes, and even the noble horse failed in the fray. Rustam's lips turned to dust from thirst, his mouth dry, his speaking tongue split and cracked. Scorched and weeping from the battle, both horse and man began to eat the wet clay. A cry went up like thunder, from Rustam on one side and Sa'd on the other. The two of them rode out from the center of the army and drew apart to one side of the field. Once the two men were alone, away from the troops, they took their stand beneath a tall cypress. The two commanders charged across the field, both of them driven by hatred in their hearts. Rustam let out a cry like thunder and brought his blade down on the head of Sa'd's horse. When the war horse crashed down headlong, the battle-hungry Sa'd was thrown from it. Rustam drew a sharp sword, meaning to deal him double doom. He was about to sever the head from his body, but through the dust of the army he could not see the danger. He climbed down from the panther-covered saddle and fixed the end of his lasso to his belt. The dust hid Rustam's sight, and Sa'd came rushing back to the fight. He struck a blow to the top of his helmet, so that blood poured down over his crown. When Rustam's vision darkened with blood, the Arab warrior gained the upper hand. He struck again at his chest and neck and threw his warlike body down into the dust. On both sides the armies knew nothing, and no one had a way to reach the champion. The troops went searching for their commander and came out to the edge of the battlefield. From afar they saw him covered in blood and dust, his whole body cut open by the sword. The Iranians turned and fled, and many renowned men were killed among them. Many died of thirst still in the saddle; the world's measure was filled with fallen kings. The army made its way back to the king of Iran, racing along the road through dark night and day. Yazdgerd was in Baghdad at that time, gathering an army around himself.