The Combat of Sohrab Against Rustem

Give ear unto the combat of Sohrab against Rustem, though it be a tale

replete with tears. So runneth the legend as told by Firdusi. But upon

the morning after the night of feasting in his pavilion, tears were far

from the eyes of brave Sohrab. For was he not bent upon the

accomplishment of great deeds? Yea, and did he not hope soon to behold

the face of his illustrious father?

But alas! a bitter disappointment awaited the hero in the early morning,

for in vain did he try to learn from Hujir, the defeated champion of the

White Fort, which of the mighty warriors encamped upon the plains before

them was Rustem, the great hero of the Persians. For that brave patriot,

fearing for the safety of Iran, refused utterly to discover the identity

of the Great Champion unto his enemy, even though Sohrab strongly

suspected a certain great warrior in a green tent, who was, indeed,

Rustem.

Defeated in this endeavor, therefore, Sohrab returned unto the Fort,

where, donning his chain mail and arming himself, he and his band of

sturdy warriors sallied forth unto the plain. Now so sudden and swift

was the onset that the Persians were taken unawares, so that Sohrab in

hurling the army of Turan against the intrenched camp of the Shah, was

able to penetrate almost at once unto its very centre. And truly it was

a magnificent sight to behold the irresistible charge of this stripling,

who, though but a mere youth, yet appeared a very god of war.

But, though taken by surprise, the Persians soon rallied, and then so

fearful was the contest that the very earth seemed to shake beneath the

shock, and the carnage was fearful. For, though from end to end the

plain glittered with bright steel armor, it covered, alas, the forms of

fallen heroes as often as it shielded the daring hearts of living

riders, since as the tide of battle ebbed and flowed, thousands fell

upon either side, night alone putting an end to the fearful conflict.

Now through all the long hours of battle, although Sohrab seemed to be

everywhere upon the field, never once did he catch a glimpse of the

owner of the green tent, and much he wondered. Nay; not even when he

thundered forth words of pride in the very face of the Shah, telling him

he had sworn to hang him alive upon a gallows, to avenge the death of

Zendeh, and challenging him to combat, did he—or any other

champion—stand forth. So great was the terror that his valor had aroused

in the hearts of his foes!

But in spite of the day’s successes, that night Sohrab lay wakeful in

his tent, restlessly tossing upon his bed of skins, while busy thoughts

surged through his brain. Finally, however, when the first faint streak

of dawn had crimsoned the eastern sky, behold, the Hero arose, passing

through the silent line of tents, until he reached the one set apart for

Piran-Wisa, the old chief who had but reached the scene of battle the

by-gone eve. Here, lifting the heavy curtain, Sohrab entered silently,

but seeing that his old friend was also awake, he said:

“O glorious chief, whose wisdom hath ever been my guiding star, behold,

once more I come to seek thy counsel and to make known unto thee a plan

which hath kept me wakeful upon my bed.

“Now it is indeed well to fight valiantly and win success upon the field

of battle as we did to-day, but for me, Sohrab, that is not enough; for

I long without ceasing to perform some mighty deed that shall reach the

ears of Rustem, my father, whom I seem destined never to find. So now I

have reached a conclusion: I would have thee challenge the bravest of

the Persian Pehliva to meet me, man to man, in single combat. If I

prevail, Rustem will surely learn of it; while if I fail, no man need

hear of me again.”

So spake impetuous Sohrab, and Piran-Wisa listened quietly. When he had

finished, however, he said unto him:

“My son, much I love thy valorous spirit, which hath ever striven and

longed for the noblest and best. Nevertheless, in this matter I counsel

thee to think of thy mother, and be content to share the common risk of

battle which falleth unto all alike. Or if thou wouldst seek that loved

father whom thou hast never seen, seek him where men say he now

dwelleth, in far-off Seistan with his aged father Zal.”

But to this wise advice Sohrab replied passionately:

“Alas, good old Piran! Canst thou not understand that I wish not to go

unto my father empty-handed? I am so proud of him, and with reason I

must make him proud of his son also. For are we not of the same noble

blood? And see! am I not tall, and strong, and brave, like unto my

father? Fear not, therefore, for truly I will overcome the bravest of

the warriors sent out by the Persians to meet me. Then surely the great

Rustem will hear of it and I shall perhaps meet him.”

Now though Piran-Wisa liked not the plan, yet could he not withstand

Sohrab’s eloquent pleading. For verily who can restrain the eagle in his

flight toward the sun?

Having given his consent unto the challenge, therefore, the old general

summoned unto him his herald, and taking his ruler’s staff in his hand,

he went forth, marshalling the whole Tartar army upon the plain. Then

the Persians, noting this move of the enemy, also formed into battle

array opposite, bright in burnished steel and splendid in rank upon rank

of brave warriors.

And presently, all being in readiness, Piran-Wisa advanced unto the

front, while the herald blew a blast upon his trumpet to make known that

he had something to say. Then silence, deep and thrilling, reigned in

both great armies as Piran, in ringing tones, offered Sohrab’s

challenge.

And when the Tartar host heard called the name of their champion,

behold, they rent the air with their shouts, cheering long and loud for

Sohrab. No Persian, they felt sure, could match their gallant young

leader, who now, in all the pride of his youth and strength, advanced

and stood by Piran-Wisa’s side.

But alas! unexpected was this call unto the Persians, and as a

consequence deep silence reigned within the lines of Iran. For so great

was the fear of Sohrab that no man dared take up the challenge. After

the first shock, however, from mouth to mouth there was breathed the one

word: Rustem! Rustem! So quickly Kaikous sent a messenger unto the Great

Pehliva, saying:

“O Mighty One! Come quickly, for behold, the faces of my warriors grow

pale before this young Tartar, and only thy sword can cause the sun to

weep.”

Now when Gudarz, the messenger, entered the tent of Rustem, the hero

rose and greeted him joyfully, both hands outstretched in welcome.

“These eyes could see no better sight,” he cried; and added quickly,

“What news?”

Then Gudarz delivered his message, hearing which, Rustem frowned, for he

remembered the bravery of the Shahs of Old, and the cowardice of Kaikous

made him sick with shame. Nevertheless, he said nothing, being too angry

for words. Whereupon, Gudarz continued:

“Truly, this young hero is marvellous! and this time, Kaikous is not to

be condemned for his terror. For, as I live, the Champion existeth not

who can match Sohrab—save only Rustem the Mighty, unto whom all eyes

turn.”

But Rustem, who was once more angered at Kaikous, replied bitterly unto

Gudarz:

“If the Shah himself feareth to meet this young lion, let him send forth

any one of the young striplings whom he, in these days, delighteth to

honor. When other Shahs have called me, it hath been sometimes unto

battle and sometimes unto the banquet, but behold, Kaikous never calleth

me except to fight for him. Therefore, I say, let one of the King’s

favorites meet Sohrab to-day; I will fight him to-morrow.”

Gudarz, however, would not listen unto Rustem when he spoke thus of

delay, but urged him even as he had upon another great occasion, saying

unto him:

“Take heed, O Mighty One, lest men say that thou fearest to peril thy

fame with younger men!”

Then Rustem, frowning with displeasure, consented to meet the Champion,

but only upon condition that he fight unknown and in plain arms. So, his

consent being won, the hero was allowed neither to linger nor to waste

time in words; for quickly the nobles buckled upon him his armor, threw

his leopard-skin around him, saddled Rakush and made him ready for the

strife. Now when he appeared among the Persians they greeted him with

mighty shouts of pride and joy, causing the Tartars to wonder much as to

the identity of this stalwart Champion fighting in plain armor and

giving no name.

But behold! the combatants being now ready, at a signal the Persian and

the Tartar hosts formed themselves into two long lines, down which the

two great Champions advanced to meet each other.

Now as Rustem moved forward, once more he eyed with wonder the slender

youth who dared thus to defy all the most valiant chiefs of the army.

Who could he be? Where was he reared? What was there about him so

strangely familiar? As he gazed, therefore, suddenly a great pity filled

his soul that this noble-spirited youth, so full of life and manly

beauty, must shortly be lying upon the sand, his life-blood paying the

penalty for his temerity. Verily, never had Rustem, the fierce warrior,

felt moved like this before, and so he spake gently unto his adversary,

saying:

“O Young Man, the air of heaven is soft and warm, but the grave is damp

and cold. Wherefore, then, wilt thou rush upon death? Truly pity filleth

my soul at the thought, and I would not take from thee the boon of life.

Yet if we combat together, surely wilt thou fall by my hands, for

behold! I am vast and clad in iron, and tried, and none have been able

to withstand my power—neither man, nor Deev, nor dragon. Desist,

therefore, from this perilous enterprise, and come over unto Iran. Then

shalt thou be as a son unto me, and fight beneath my banner while I

live, winning both honor and fame.”

So spake Rustem, and Sohrab, listening unto his voice, and gazing upon

his mighty form, planted like a great tower upon the plain, felt his

heart go out unto him strangely. And, a sudden hope filling his soul,

eagerly he ran forward, knelt before the hero, and gazing up at him

wistfully, said:

“O Glory of the World, verily my heart leapeth forth to greet thee as

unto a loved kinsman! Tell unto me, therefore, thy name, for it seemeth

unto me that thou must be Rustem, the mighty son of White-haired Zal.

For surely unto none other is it given to be so gloriously perfect as

thou!”

But Rustem, misunderstanding Sohrab’s ardor, replied coldly unto him,

saying.

“Rash Boy! Men look upon Rustem’s face and flee. And well I know that if

that mighty hero stood here to-day, then would there be no further talk

of fighting. But, unfortunately for thy pride, thou hast now to do with

no noble Pehliva, but with a common man, possessing neither throne, nor

palace, nor crown.”

Now Rustem spake thus sternly unto the youth that he might be afraid

when he beheld his prowess, and think that still greater might was

hidden in the camp of the Persians.

But Sohrab, when he heard the words of Rustem, was sad, and his hopes,

that had risen so high as he beheld his mighty antagonist, were

shattered. Yea, and the day that had looked so bright was made dark unto

his eyes. Howbeit, hiding his disappointment, with flashing eyes he

replied unto Rustem:

“Fierce Warrior! Thinkest thou to terrify me by thy proud words? If so,

verily thou errest. Now it is true that thou art more vast and tried

than I, but unto whom will be the victory only the event will teach us

in its hour. Yet in one thing, I give thee right: Did Rustem stand where

thou art standing now, then, indeed, would there be no combat here

to-day. But come! Let us not parley words.”

So the two Champions chose a narrow place, marked out the lists, and

mounted upon their powerful steeds, ready for the combat. Now they began

the attack by hurling their javelins; and when they were blunted against

the steel bucklers they drew their long Indian swords and fell to work

again. And behold, when their swords were broken, then they used their

clubs. Terrible blows they dealt each other with these implements of war

and great was the skill and agility with which they fought, calling

forth many a shout of admiration from the breathlessly-watching armies.

Nevertheless, they seemed to be about equally matched in wariness,

skill, and strength. For, though Rustem’s eye shot fire as he raised

high his spear and hurled it down with swift, unerring aim, quick as a

flash Sohrab sprang to one side, and the spear buried itself deep in the

sand, doing naught of harm. In return for this, however, Sohrab struck

full upon Rustem’s shield, so that the iron rang and rang again. Then

Rustem, furious, seized his gigantic club, which no one but himself

could wield, and with one mighty stroke would have felled Sohrab to the

earth, had he not again been too quick for him in springing aside. But

alas! the club came thundering down with such prodigious force that it

caused Rustem himself to fall forward and loose his hold upon it. And

behold! in an instant, Sohrab could have pierced the fallen hero where

he lay. But instead he drew back, without even unsheathing his sword,

saying unto his unknown foe:

“O Mighty One! Thou sayest thou art not Rustem. Well, be it so! But who

art thou, then, that thou canst so touch my soul? I pray thee, let the

fight end here, and let there be peace twixt thee and me.”

But Rustem, trembling with rage and fury, would not hearken unto the

words of Sohrab; rather, they increased his wrath and shame. For it was,

indeed, bitter for the old Champion to think that he owed his life unto

this slight, sunny youth. So, again seizing his spear, with taunting,

bitter words he rushed upon Sohrab, attacking him with renewed vigor.

Then Sohrab saw that this fight must be to the death, and he, too,

allowed the lust of conquest to take full possession of his soul.

Falling to again, therefore, behold, the heroes fought until their

spears were shivered, and their swords hacked like unto saws, and all

their weapons were bent and broken. Even then, however, they did not

desist, but wrestled with each other until the sweat and blood ran down

from their bodies and their throats were parched and dry like unto

parchment. But at last so weary were they that neither the warriors nor

their horses could move more, yet to neither was given the victory. So,

with mail shattered and torn, and with bruised and wounded bodies, the

exhausted heroes stayed them awhile to rest. Then Rustem said unto

himself:

“Verily, never in all my long life of battle have I seen man or demon

with such strength and activity as is possessed by this redoubtable

Sohrab! Why, even my great battle with the White Deev was but as child’s

play unto this, and though never yet have I been conquered, alas, now my

heart faileth me before this youth without a name!”

But Sohrab, when he had rested for a few minutes, thus gaily addressed

his antagonist:

“Ho, Angry One! when thou art rested, come and try if thou canst fight

with bow and arrow.”

So presently the Champions fell to again, fighting with arrows; but

still one could not surpass the other, though they rained from their

bows like hail. Then, in desperation, Rustem seized Sohrab by the belt,

hoping to drag him from his saddle, as he had done unto many a hero in

battle. But alas! it availed him naught. For as soon could a mountain be

moved from its base as Sohrab from his saddle. And neither could Sohrab

lift his antagonist, though mightily he strove to perform this feat of

strength.

So, being thus unsuccessful both with arrows and in wrestling, once more

the champions betook themselves to clubs, and after a time Sohrab

succeeded in dealing Rustem a mighty blow that bruised his shoulder. Now

so great was the agony that Rustem writhed under it, though he was

strong enough to stifle any cry of pain. Nevertheless, Sohrab saw that

he had struck a telling blow, and, smiling, he taunted the wounded one,

saying:

“O Smitten Lion! Truly thou art brave, but how canst thou hope to stand

against the blows of the strong? But alas! it is thy age that disableth

thee. Go, therefore, and measure thy strength with thy equals, for

verily it is folly for the aged to try to match themselves with the

young and strong.”

Now so furious was Rustem at the taunts of Sohrab that, in his frenzy,

he turned suddenly upon the army of the Tartars, charging its ranks even

as a tiger rusheth upon his prey. And behold! when Sohrab saw this, he

in his turn, fell upon the Persians, scattering them like a flock of

sheep before him. Whereupon, Rustem, beholding the flight of his

countrymen, turned quickly from pursuing the Tartars, crying fiercely

unto Sohrab:

“O Man of Blood! Why hast thou fallen upon the Persians like a wolf upon

the fold?”

Turning in astonishment therefore, at this most surprising question,

Sohrab said:

“Thou Mad Elephant! Didst not thou, thyself, first charge the Tartar

host, though they had not joined in battle? Wherefore, then, reproach

me?”

Now Sohrab was still gay and unruffled, and Rustem’s heart sank as he

beheld how fresh and full of vigor was this laughing stripling, for all

the hard day’s fight. So he said:

“Behold! night descendeth upon the plain. It is too late, therefore, to

renew the combat to-day. If thou art still for war, however, we will

fight again to-morrow, and God shall decide who is the better man.”

So, by mutual consent, the heroes now separated, each riding back to his

own army, where they were received with shouts of admiration, which rang

and rang again. But, strange to say, it was Sohrab’s gay farewell that

rang longest in Rustem’s ears, for his soul was filled with wonder and

admiration at the lightness and strength of this marvellous youth.

Seeking Kaikous, therefore, who was all unnerved by the day’s conflict,

in reply to his eager questions Rustem said:

“O Lord of the World, truly my heart misgiveth me, for never during my

long life have I witnessed such over-whelming valor as hath been

exhibited this day by yon laughing boy, whose body, I should say, was

formed of iron, were it not for his remarkable lightness. For behold! I

have fought him with sword, and spear, and arrow, and mace—not only

once, but again and again—and yet remaineth he alive and merry. In the

warrior’s art he appeareth to be my superior, and Ormuzd alone knoweth

what will be the outcome of the conflict to-morrow. May he grant unto

his servant sufficient strength and courage for the hour!”

Now after his conference with the Shah, Rustem returned unto his tent,

where he held serious converse with Zuara, his young brother, saying

unto him:

“O my brother! Behold, it hath been given unto me to fight this day with

a champion, the power of whose arm is prodigious! I say unto thee,

therefore, that should anything untoward happen upon the morrow when the

conflict is renewed, verily it will fall unto thee to see that my army

is returned in safety unto Zabulistan. And thou must also console my

mother in her sorrow, bidding her not to bind her heart forever unto the

dead, since her son hath no cause to complain of fate. And say unto Zal,

my silver-crowned father, that since old and young must die, what

mattereth it if it be written in the stars that only another sun shall

shine for Rustem, since he hath lived long and fought gloriously for

Iran!”

Meanwhile, in the camp of the Tartars, Sohrab, also, lauded the might of

his unknown antagonist, saying unto Human:

“Alas, Brave Human! Though I understand it not, truly my heart is

strangely drawn unto the mighty warrior with whom I have fought this

day. I seem to see in him, too, all the signs by which my mother told me

I was to recognize my father, and my heart is filled with misgivings.

Verily, I must not fight against my father!”

But Human, following the directions of the King, replied unto Sohrab:

“O Glory of the World! Naught but the longings of thine own heart give

credence unto thy words. Now oft have I looked upon the face of Rustem

in battle, and mine eyes have beheld his deeds of valor, but alas! this

man in nowise resembleth him, save in bulk alone. Neither is his horse

the famous Rakush; nor is his manner of wielding his club the same. In

fostering this thought, thy imagination carrieth thee away.”

Now though Sohrab suspected not the plot which Afrasiab had formed for

his destruction, yet was he not wholly satisfied with Human’s words.

Howbeit, as he could not refute them, he held his peace. And that night,

also, feasted he gaily with his chiefs.

Nevertheless, when the harbinger of a new day had lightened the sky and

cleared away the shadows, behold, Sohrab donned his cuirass and his

helmet and, arming himself, mounted his horse and rode into the space

between the two armies. Then Rustem, beholding his antagonist, also rode

out from among the Persians.

So once more the champions met, and behold, as Sohrab greeted Rustem his

mouth was full of smiles, for how could it be otherwise when his heart

was as full of sunshine as the new Eastern day with light? Gaily,

therefore, he said unto the Pehliva:

“Ah, let us not fight to-day, Old Dragon! for as soon would I combat

with my own father as with thee. Rather, let us sit together upon the

ground, and thou shalt relate unto me thy deeds of valor. For verily my

soul delighteth in heroic tales—as my mother could say unto thee—and thy

life hath been full of them, I know. Yea, if I mistake not, even the

great Rustem, thy countryman, canst thou rival in thy thrilling

adventures and conquests, and much I should like to hear them. As for

combat, there are plenty of other brave men with whom thou canst do

battle, but with me, I pray thee, make a covenant of friendship, for my

heart sayeth unto me that we were not meant to be foes.”

But Rustem, who still thought that Sohrab spake in guile, replied unto

him:

“O Hero of Tender Age! Behold, we are met here to fight, and not to blow

forth empty wind upon the air. Save thy words of lure, therefore, for

‘other brave men,’ if perchance thou livest to meet them in battle; for

verily my ears are sealed against them. As for me, I am an old man, and

thou art young, but forget not that it is the Master of the World who

holdeth the balance in his hands.”

Then Sohrab, rising lightly unto his feet, said:

“Old Champion, I see I have spoken in vain, and it grieveth me. Now I

would have had thee die upon thy bed, when thy time should come, but

behold! thou art brave enough to prefer a hero’s death. Well, so be it!

at least thou shalt die gloriously, after the fight of thy life—and what

can even the beloved of Ormuzd ask more?”

So once more the two champions prepared for combat. And—this time we are

informed—the place of contest was in the centre of a lonely, treeless

plain, through which coursed a deep, winding river. Yea, and gloomy gray

mountains skirted the distant horizon, so that, in spite of the

brilliant Eastern sunshine, it was a scene of dreariness and mystic

solitude. For, to prevent the two armies from falling upon each other in

the excitement of the conflict, the chiefs had removed them to a

distance of several miles from the scene of battle, so that the two

champions were the only living figures upon the plain.

Now as the combat was to be renewed upon foot, the two heroes fastened

their steeds unto the rocks, and then, clad in complete mail, they

approached each other stealthily, and in diminishing circles, each

watching for the chance to pounce like a lion upon his foe. And behold!

when the two champions met, so terrific was the crash of their encounter

that it was heard, like thunder, from end to end of the standing hosts.

And then, so terrible was the fight that even the sun refused to shine

upon so unnatural a conflict; and the heavens, too, grew dark and

lowering, as though in sore displeasure; and the wind rose, moaning and

sweeping the plain in anger.

But still the heroes fought on—unconscious of the frown of nature—from

morning until noonday. Yea, and from noonday until it was time for the

shadows to lengthen upon the plain. Yet unto neither was given the

advantage.

Presently, however, Sohrab’s shield was almost cloven by a terrific

stroke from Rustem’s sword. The iron plating flew, but, fortunately, the

good steel yet resisted. Then Sohrab, with his sword, smote off the

proudly-waving crest of Rustem’s helm—that plume which never yet had

bowed unto the dust; seeing which, Rustem clenched his teeth—and still

they fought on!

And now the gloom grew blacker, angry storm clouds rumbling overhead;

but the fierce combatants heard it not. Then, quite suddenly, Rakush the

intelligent put forth a fearful cry—a cry so unearthly, so full of woe,

that a shiver ran through all the Persian lines. But it troubled not the

combatants, for, unconscious of it, still they fought on!

Howbeit, presently leaping like a lion, Sohrab seized Rustem by the

girdle, lifted him from the ground, and hurled him down, his face and

mouth buried deep in the dust. Then he couched upon him—yea, even as a

beast of the jungle coucheth upon its prey! Yea, and he drew his sword,

thinking to sever his enemy’s head—even as was the Oriental custom. But

at this crisis, Rustem, gifted with the wisdom and cunning of long

experience, realizing his peril, opened his mouth and said unto Sohrab:

“Stay, thou Wild Elephant! Knowest thou not the customs of chivalrous

warfare? Now it is written in the laws of honor that he who overthroweth

a brave man for the first time shall not destroy him, but wait until the

second throw when usage entitleth the victor honorably to take the life

of the vanquished. Behold! this is our custom though it appeareth not to

be thine.”

Alas! Sohrab, who was as generous of heart as he was brave, hearing the

words of Rustem, immediately removed his grasp from the Hero, and

permitting him to rise, agreed to a short truce.

As for Rustem, scarcely believing himself alive after such a narrow

escape, gratefully he returned thanks unto Ormuzd, looking upon it as

nothing short of a miracle. Then, having bathed his limbs, covered with

dust and blood, in the river, he readjusted his torn armor, and sat him

down to rest, wondering how this desperate duel would finally end.

But no such misgivings troubled Sohrab as he rested. Nor was he alone;

for Human, beholding the truce, came out unto the Hero to ask of the

adventures of the day. When Sohrab related unto him of the fight,

however, and of how he had spared Rustem, Human reproached him for his

folly, saying:

“Alas, O Sohrab! The lion whom thou so unwisely released from thy toils

hath caught thee in a yet more cunning snare. Beware, therefore, when

the combat is renewed, for Fortune rarely giveth us twice the

opportunity to overcome our foes. And only think what an enemy is this!”

Now Sohrab was abashed when he learned how that Rustem had duped him.

But, hiding his chagrin, he said lightly unto Human:

“Brave Human, be not troubled, for in an hour we meet again in battle,

and though twice I have shown mercy unto this old warrior, a third time

shall it not happen, for now all the demands of honor have been met.”

Now while Sohrab and the Tartar chief thus spake of Rustem, behold, the

Hero himself had gone aside, and kneeling beside the running brook, he

prayed unto Ormuzd, entreating that such strength be granted unto him

that victory should crown his final efforts. Yea, and the All-Merciful

One heard the cry of his troubled child, granting unto him such

increased strength that lo! the rock whereon he knelt gave way beneath

him, because it had not power to bear his weight. Then Rustem, feeling

that too much strength might prove his undoing, prayed yet again asking

that part thereof be taken away. And again Ormuzd listened unto his

voice.

So, rested and reinspired, when the hour was ended, once more the

champions turned them unto the place of combat, determined to bring the

awful struggle to a close ere another night set in. Now Rustem’s heart,

in spite of his increased strength, was full of care; but Sohrab came

forth like a giant refreshed. Running at Rustem like a mad elephant,

therefore, he shouted in a voice of thunder:

“Ho, Wily One! Prepare to meet thy end. For this time thy words of guile

shall avail thee naught.”

Now Rustem, when he saw the rage of the hitherto laughing young

stripling, learned at last to know fear, and in his heart he quickly

prayed unto Ormuzd, asking that the strength withdrawn be restored unto

him. Then, imbued with all his new-found might, Rustem raised high his

head, his eyes glaring with the wild light of battle, his sword

brandished on high. So for a second he stood, after which, with a

terrible roar, he advanced upon Sohrab, instinctively shouting his old,

thunderous battle-cry: “Rustem! Rustem!”

Alas for Sohrab! Stopped midway in his charge by the sound of that

much-loved name, for one fateful second, he gazed, bewildered, then

instinctively he recoiled, dropping his shield, thus leaving himself

uncovered. Quick as a flash, therefore, Rustem drew his blade, and drove

it with mighty force through the breast of the youthful hero who,

staggering back, sank heavily to the ground. And now, the awful din of

arms being hushed, behold, the sun shone forth once more from between

the parted thunder-clouds, revealing a fierce warrior standing

triumphant over his fallen foe!

And alas that it must be said! but as Rustem gazed upon the prostrate

young hero, not one drop of pity filled his heart; for the black shadow

of defeat and humiliation yet hovered too near unto him to allow aught

but bitterness and anger to rule his soul. Wrathfully, therefore, he

said unto Sohrab:

“Foolish boy! In thy pride thou thoughtest to slay a Persian hero this

day and boast thy trophy in Afrasiab’s land. Now here thou liest, slain

by an unknown man.”

Now Rustem spake thus because, having been so nearly o’ercome by this

valorous youth, after all his proud years of triumph, in his bitter

mortification he fain would have deprived him of the satisfaction of

knowing by whose hand he had fallen. Alas! a small feeling was this to

find its way into the heart of so great a hero, and bitterly was Rustem

to repent it.

For, though wounded unto death, behold, Sohrab was still unconquered.

Looking up fearlessly into the eyes of his foe, therefore, he said

proudly:

“Vain boaster! Vaunt not thy mighty prowess, for not _thy_ puny strength

hath slain me. Nay; _Rustem_ slays me! For that loved name it was

unnerved my arm, and so thy boasted spear pierced an unarmed foe. But

hear me now, fierce man, and tremble. For behold! Rustem, my father,

whom I seek through all the world, will surely avenge my death—though I,

alas, shall never see him now! When he learneth of my doom, however,

beware! For if thou shouldst become a fish and lose thyself in the

depths of the sea, or a star to hide thyself in the highest heaven,

verily my father would draw thee forth from thy hiding-place to wreak

vengeance upon thy head. Ah, how his heart will be filled with wrath and

sorrow when it shall be told unto him that Sohrab, his son, perished in

the quest after his face!”

Now Rustem listened unto the words of Sohrab coldly, gazing upon him

with scornful, unbelieving eyes. And he said:

“O vanquished youth! Verily, thou wanderest in thy talk. The mighty

Rustem never had a son. Now of this I am sure, for am I not a Persian?”

But Sohrab answered still proudly, though his voice had grown faint and

hoarse. And he said:

“Stubborn Crocodile! The son of Rustem am I, and none other, and when

one day the news of my death shall reach him, it will pierce him like a

stab. And alas, my poor mother! what will be her grief when she shall

learn that never again shall Sohrab return unto his native land! For

well she knoweth that her son sped not for empty glory forth from far

Samengan, but to seek his father, lest he perish with longing after him.

And now it is all in vain!”

Now, though still unbelieving, Rustem could not but be touched by

Sohrab’s grief. For, as he gazed at the youthful hero, so full of

strength and manly beauty, slain, alas, by his hand in the morning of

life, he could not but regret this waste of precious life. So, very

gently he spake unto Sohrab. And he said:

“O Valiant One! Well might Rustem be proud of such a son. Nevertheless,

men have told thee false. For well I know that the Great Pehliva never

had but one child—and that a girl, who dwelleth afar with her mother,

and dreameth not of war and its cruelties.”

Alas! the anguish of Sohrab’s wound was growing great, so that he longed

to pull out the sword and end his pain. But Rustem’s unbelief angered

him, and he resolved first to convince his stubborn foe. So he said

wrathfully:

“Thou Great Persian Ox! Who are thou that thou darest to deny my words?

Knowest thou not that truth sitteth upon the lips of dying men? I tell

thee that bound upon this arm I bear the amulet of the house of Zal,

which Rustem gave my mother. Men may have told _thee_ false, but surely

my mother knoweth whereof she speaketh, and the story had I from her own

lips.”

Alas for the Great Rustem! When he heard these words he was shaken with

dismay. Nevertheless, he said quietly unto Sohrab:

“Bare thy arm, Stripling, for if thou canst show this token, that were

proof, indeed, that thou art Rustem’s son.”

So, with trembling fingers, Sohrab bared his shoulder, and there upon

his arm Rustem beheld the amulet which he had given unto Tamineh so long

ago. Now as he gazed, lo, there broke from the heart of the Hero a

terrible cry of anguish, after which, suddenly, the earth became dark

unto his eyes, and he fell in a swoon beside his valiant son.

And behold! hearing this groan of horrible heart-break, Sohrab knew at

last that the unknown warrior was none other than his long-sought

father, Rustem the Mighty. So, though fierce was the pain of his wound,

Sohrab managed finally to reach the place where Rustem lay, pillowing

his head upon his knee. Yea, and he bathed his face with tears,

whispering unto him fond words of endearment, trying thus to coax him

back to life.

But alas! When Rustem opened his eyes once more, it was upon a world of

woe and anguish. In his agony of spirit, therefore, he rent his clothes,

and tore his hair, and beat upon his breast, moaning and crying in his

terrible sorrow:

“O my son whom I have slain! My son so young and brave and beautiful!

Would that my name had been struck from the lists of men ere I had done

this cruel deed. But behold! one grave shall suffice for father and son,

for no longer will I cumber the earth.”

Now so speaking, Rustem clutched his sword, and would have slain himself

had not Sohrab stayed his hand, saying:

“Father, forbear! For truly, not thou, but Fate is responsible for this

woful happening. Ah, how our hearts cried out one unto the other! and

how we should have joyed together! But alas! it hath been decreed

otherwise by Him who changeth not. Weep not, therefore, and do thyself

no harm, for what is written in the stars, shall it not come to pass?

And listen! In spite of all, a great joy hath come unto Sohrab—for doth

he not behold thy face? O my father, so brave and splendid, how I have

longed to see thee! Come, sit beside me on the sand, therefore, and hold

me fast. Yea, take my head between thy hands, and kiss me on the cheek,

murmuring, just once, the tender words: ‘My son! My valiant son!’ Quick!

for my life is ebbing fast.”

Then Rustem, weeping, cast his arms about his son, murmuring unto him

broken words of praise and anguish. And Sohrab was content, for had he

not his heart’s desire? So, still he lay, and naught disturbed the

oppressive silence save only Rustem’s heart-breaking cries of woe.

But behold! The father’s sad lament reached and caused distress unto

other ears than those of quiet Sohrab. For Rakush, hearing his master’s

plaintive voice, whinnied back unto him distressfully, knowing not what

to think. Then, as Rustem came not unto him, presently, after many brave

tugs, he tore up the rock unto which he was fastened, and hastened, as

fast as his burden would allow, unto his master’s side. But alas! in his

terrible grief, stricken Rustem had only words of chiding for his

devoted steed, saying unto him:

“O Rakush! Rakush! Verily, thy feet should have rotted in thy joints

before ever they bare thy master to this field.”

Now at this outburst, Sohrab raised his head, gazing with bright eyes at

the great charger, whose joys and sorrows were so closely bound up with

those of his master. And much he wondered to see the big, warm tears

roll down from the soft, compassionate eyes of drooping Rakush. Smiling

gently, therefore, he said unto him:

“So thou art really Rakush! Ah, how oft have I heard my mother tell of

thee, thou faithful, loving steed! And how I envy thee! For thou hast

been where I shall never go—even unto far-off Seistan, my father’s sunny

home. There White-haired Zal himself hath stroked thy arching neck, and

given thee food, and bidden thee bear thy master well. But alas! Sohrab

will never see his grandsire’s charming home, nor hear his voice in

greeting.”

Thus spake the dying Sohrab, and Rustem, hearing his sorrowful plaint,

brake forth afresh in woe, refusing to be comforted. And he cried:

“Oh, that I were dead, and the waves of yon dark river rolling

peacefully over me! For never shall I know happiness more in the world.”

But again Sohrab spake words of comfort unto his father, bidding him

live for Iran—thus reaping in his old age a second glory of great deeds.

Yea, and he also prayed Rustem to ensure that his followers be allowed

to cross the Oxus back in peace, and that brave Hujir be granted his

liberty. And he said:

“As for me, O my father, carry me back with thee unto Seistan, and bury

me with the heroes of my house, for I shall sleep more peacefully

there.”

So Rustem, stifling his tears, promised that Sohrab’s every wish should

be fulfilled. And he said:

“O my glorious son! Never shalt thou be forgotten. For behold! I will

build thee a stately tomb, with a tall pillar rising unto the skies. And

so imposing shall it be that all men shall see it from afar, and point

to it as Valiant Sohrab’s tomb. Yea, and all thy brave deeds shall be

recorded there, cut so deep in the marble that not even Time shall be

able to erase them. So shalt thou live forever, thy glory rivalling that

of all the heroes of Iran. For, generous hast thou been, as well as

mighty and valiant!”

Now hearing these wonderful words, Sohrab smiled radiantly upon his

father, caressing his mighty hand. Then sinking back into his arms, he

murmured:

“Ah, the world is so beautiful! So beautiful! And I am young to die.

Nevertheless, I am content. For, O my father! that was a glorious

fight.... And I am not ashamed. Only, my poor young mother!”

So, with his mother’s name upon his lips, Brave Sohrab sighed gently,

his head drooped, and then, white and motionless, the fair young body

lay forever quiet in his father’s arms. But behold, the smile upon his

lips still spake of content, for it said that the beautiful spirit had

soared once more unto the sunny Gardens of the Blessed.

But alas! In departing, Sohrab took all the sunshine of the world with

him. For now night came down, heavy and dark, upon the plain, and a

chill fog rose up from the rushing river. By and by, however, the moon

came out, shining solitary through the mist, and its rays fell softly

upon Sohrab, lying with radiant, upturned face, so still upon the sand.

But alas! The Queen of the Night could not lighten the dark figure

that—with horseman’s cloak drawn low over bowed head—sat silent and

immovable by the side of the sleeping youth. Nay; not even Rakush could

rouse his master now, though he caressed and whinnied and coaxed for

long hours.

Alas! so it was that the warriors, sent out by the two great chiefs,

found the morning’s gay champions. But so great was their awe that none

dared draw near to question. So, silently they rode back, and gave the

news unto their leaders. But not even the Shah dared disturb the Great

Pehliva in his grief, when it was learned that Rustem had slain his son.

In the morning, however, the gentle hands of many brave warriors lifted

the sleeping Sohrab and bare him in a litter, sorrowfully unto the

Persian camp, amid such wailing as the earth ne’er heard before. For the

mighty hosts of both great armies mourned for the brave young Hero gone.

Yea, and after this, Rustem, having built a great fire, flung into it

his tent of emerald and his trappings of Roum, his saddle and his

leopard-skin, his armor well tried in battle, and all the appurtenances

of his throne. Now thus was the pride of the mighty warrior laid low.

Yea; and without regret saw he his heart’s treasures burn, for his soul

was sick of war. And he cried:

“O Sohrab! Sohrab! Not even for thee will I fight more. For what

availeth glory unto me now?”

And having thus sacrificed his pride, behold, Rustem commanded that

Sohrab be swathed in rich brocades of gold, worthy his fair young body;

and when they had thus enfolded him, he made ready his army to return

unto Seistan. But for one night, Brave Sohrab lay in state, watched over

by his own gallant chiefs, who had feasted with him so merrily in his

tent, and who now, alas, mourned for him with a bitterness that filled

the night with woe.

When morning dawned, however, the sorrowful procession set forth unto

Seistan. Now all the nobles of Iran marched before the bier, their heads

covered with ashes and their garments rent and tattered. And behold!

Rustem heaped black earth upon his head, and tore his hair, and wrung

his hands; but his cries could not be heard for the mighty wailing of

the army. And not only this, but lo! the drums of the war-elephants were

also shattered, and the cymbals broken, and the tails of the horses torn

to the roots, for thus did the Persians mourn their mighty dead.

Now when the mournful train drew near unto Seistan, Zal marvelled to see

the host returning thus in sorrow. For, as he beheld Rustem at their

head, he knew that the wailing was not for him, and he could think of no

other worthy such martial honors. When they drew near, however, Rustem

led him unto the bier, and showed unto him the youthful Sohrab, so like

in feature and might unto Saum, the son of Neriman. Then he told unto

him all that had come to pass, and behold! Zal, too, tore his white hair

and wept at this dire misfortune and loss that had come unto his house,

and for brave, laughing Sohrab gone.

And lo! the days of mourning being ended, the Mighty Ones built for the

sleeping hero a tomb like unto a horse’s hoof; and therein they laid him

to rest, in a chamber of gold, perfumed with amber. Yea, and they

covered him with soft brocades, and placed his arms beside him, so that

right royally he took his rest. And when it was done, behold, the house

of Rustem grew like unto a grave, and its courts were filled with the

voice of sorrow. So they mourned for Sohrab in the home of his fathers,

and it seemed as if joy could never again take up her abode in the

anguish-smitten heart of Rustem.

But alas! not alone in the home of his fathers was Sohrab mourned. There

at least his passing left no gap. But in far Samengan, how different!

For, though so brave about letting her nestling fly forth, well Tamineh

knew that until he winged his glad flight back unto the home nest there

would be no more sunshine in her life. Now gladly would she have laid

herself down and slept, even as the Princess of old, until the glad day

when her brave young Prince should, by his kiss, call her back once more

unto the joy of life. But behold! even slumber was denied her.

So, night after night, too restless and anxious to sleep, Tamineh sat

upon her balcony, gazing down the moonlit road by which one day her

brave young warrior must return. For at first she dreamed not of ill.

But alas! one night as she gazed with longing that would not be stilled,

suddenly she fell to shivering. For behold! no longer did she see the

long dusty road, but in its stead there flowed a great silent river,

which shone in the moonlight like molten silver. And alas! upon its

surface floated Sohrab, a radiant smile upon his lips, and in his hands

a bunch of blood-red flowers, which silently he offered her.

Now Tamineh knew that she had but dreamed, and yet a vague foreboding

took possession of her heart, causing her more anxiously still, from

this time forth, to watch for her boy’s return. And alas! one night as

she sat soothed and entranced by the magic beauty of the moonlit world,

suddenly she saw loom up from out the shadows, upon the white gleaming

road, a great riderless horse, led by a man upon horseback, whose figure

seemed strangely familiar, seeing which, Tamineh thought that again she

dreamed. But alas! this time she dreamed not. For slowly the riderless

horse, with shorn tail and saddle reversed, advanced unto the palace

gates, and then there floated up unto the waiting mother a terrible cry,

which was taken up and echoed through every corner of the palace, and it

ran:

“Sohrab is dead! Sohrab is dead! The brave young Prince will return no

more unto his native land.”

And now, indeed, was there grief and lamentation throughout the Court.

For not only did the nobles and warriors wail and throw dust upon their

heads, but the women also tore their long white veils, and wrung their

hands as they clustered around the bereaved Tamineh, who at the first

sight of the face of Piran-Wisa, before ever his sad errand was told,

knew what had befallen, and with a terrible cry had swooned at the feet

of her maidens.

And alas! long Tamineh lay as one dead, but, when consciousness finally

returned, from the lips of aged Piran she heard the whole sad story of

her boy’s untimely death. And behold! as the white-haired general

recounted how Sohrab had borne himself in that last mighty conflict, the

mother’s eyes flashed and dilated, while the soul looking out from

behind them seemed to cry aloud with pride, and joy, and woe, and

despair, in turn. To be slain by Rustem, and slain in equal combat was a

hero’s death, truly. But ah, the woe of it!

Yea, the woe of it! For all Turan mourned for the child of prowess that

was fallen in his bloom; but never was there grief like unto that of

Sohrab’s mother. Night and day she grieved for her son, her only comfort

being the horse and cloak which once had been his. Weeping, she would

kiss the horse’s mane and cling about his neck, while at night she held

his cloak in her arms, pressing its empty folds unto her bosom. So she

mourned, neither eating nor sleeping till her love for her dead son drew

her spirit like a strong cord—away from the weary body—away from the

sunless earth which no longer held her heart’s dearest.

But behold! Tamineh’s mourning lasted but the accustomed time, for,

seven days after Piran-Wisa’s return with the riderless horse, she also

floated away upon the silent river, and the beautiful smile upon her

lips, as she lay, surrounded by her weeping maidens, said plainly that

Rustem’s Bright Singing-bird had flown also unto the Gardens of

Paradise—she and her brave nestling happy forever in the smile of Ormuzd

the Blessed.

SIAWUSH THE PERSIAN SIR GALAHAD

Behold! it is recorded that upon a certain day, while the great Shah,

Kaikous, was still seated upon the throne of light, Tus, Gew, Gudarz,

and other brave Pehliva of Iran departed from the stately court upon a

hunting excursion. Now it was in all a goodly company, for the warriors

were accompanied by numerous retainers and falconers, and also by

leopards such as are trained to hunt the gazelle and the wild ass of the

desert.

So they went forth, and after a merry day’s hunting, at evening they

came unto a vast wood, reaching many leagues. And behold! as the

huntsmen entered its dark recesses, what was their surprise to discover

there a maiden of marvellous beauty, her hair and neck spangled with

costly jewels. And, strange as it may seem, with the exception of the

horse which nibbled the grass near by, this beautiful maiden was

entirely alone in the green solitude.

Now much the huntsman wondered at this most unusual sight, and Tus, who

first discovered the maiden, advancing courteously, said: “O Maiden

Fair, by the sun, and moon, and all the silvery stars, I swear that——

“Never was seen so sweet a flower,

In garden, vale, or fairy bower;

The moon is on thy lovely face,

Thy cypress-form is full of grace;

But why, with charms so soft and meek,

Dost thou the lonely forest seek?”

Then the Princess—for she was a princess of the house of Feridoun—told

unto the Pehliva how that she had fled from her home to escape the wrath

of her father who was angry with her because she had refused to wed

Poshang, the ugly, bad-tempered old ruler of Turan. And she said: “Alas!

my father is quick——

“But when his angry mood is o’er,

He’ll love his daughter as before;

And send his horsemen far and near,

To take me to my mother dear.

Therefore, I would not further stray,

But here, without a murmur, stay.”

Now the maiden was so beautiful that the impressionable hearts of both

Tus and Gew warmed toward her, each desiring her for his wife. And alas!

so great was their ardor, that almost the two heroes came to blows, in

their hot discussion as to the possession of the Princess. However,

misfortune was finally averted by wise old Gudarz, who persuaded the

rivals to refer the matter unto the King.

So behold! they led the Peri-faced maiden before Kaikous who, when he

gazed upon her blooming cheeks, her smiling lips, and fascinating mien,

smiled, and bit his lip, saying unto Tus and Gew:

“O my Pehliva, I perceive that ye have brought back from the hunt but a

single gazelle—one, however, which, unless I mistake me, belongeth unto

a King’s garden. As Queen of the moon-faced beauties of my palace,

therefore, shall she reign, for I perceive she is worthy to recline upon

cushions of silver broidered with gold.”

Now, this unlooked-for decision of the King was as the essence of

wormwood unto Tus and Gew. However, the Lord of the World sweetened the

bitter cup by presenting unto each brave warrior a diadem, and ten

superb horses. But upon the Princess he showered rubies and pearls, and

in his heart she reigned as Queen of Queens.

And behold! in the course of time there came to take up his abode in the

King’s palace a splendid son, tall and fair and strong of limb. And the

name that was given unto him was Siawush.

Now Kaikous rejoiced greatly in this son of his race, and offered

grateful thanks unto Ormuzd the Blessed. But he was grieved, also,

because of the message of the stars concerning him. For alas! the

astrologers foretold for the infant a career of great vicissitude,

ending in sorrow. Neither would his virtues avail him aught, for these,

above all, would bring destruction upon him.

But Kaikous, who was of a sanguine disposition, soon allowed hope to

delude him into forgetting the inevitable, and so he thought of Siawush

only as a child of promise; while unto his beautiful young mother he was

the very joy of life.

Yea, and also unto another brave heart did Siawush cause joy. For

behold! when the news that a son had been born unto the Shah spread unto

far-away Seistan, Rustem the Mighty, aroused him from his sorrow for

Sohrab, and going up unto the Court, he asked for the babe that he might

rear it for the glory of Iran. And Kaikous suffered it, feeling that a

great honor had been done unto the child. So joyously Rustem bare

Siawush back unto his kingdom.

And fortunately for Iran, as time passed by, so absorbed became the

Great Pehliva in this child of his care, that once more he experienced

the joys of living. For, anxious that justice should be done unto the

surprising virtues of Siawush, Rustem himself taught his charge

horsemanship and archery; the use of arms, and how to hunt with the

falcon and the leopard; how to conduct himself at a banquet, and in

fact, all the manners, duties and accomplishments of Kings, and the

hardy chivalry of the age. His progress, too, in the attainment of every

species of knowledge and science was surprising, for in this his soul

delighted. So, as the years passed by, this King’s Son grew to be a

youth of such noble proportions, possessing a face so radiant with

winsomeness and intelligence that verily you would have said that the

world held not his like.

Now when Siawush had become skilled and strong so that he could easily

ensnare a lion or a tiger, behold, one day he came unto Rustem bearing

high his head. And he said:

“O Glorious Pehliva! single-handed have I this day ensnared and slain a

mighty king of the forest. Is it not time, therefore, that we go up unto

the Shah, my father, that he may perceive what manner of man thou hast

made of me? Now truly I love Seistan, and thee, and thy dear father—the

White-haired Zal. But now I am no longer a child, and it appeareth unto

me that out in the world there must be work for me to do.”

Then Rustem smiled, for the lad’s words pleased him well. And, as his

wishes accorded with his own plans for the Prince, almost at once they

marched with a mighty host unto Iran. Now when they were come unto the

Court, a royal welcome was accorded them, and so pleased was Kaikous

with his son that he rained upon Rustem jewels, and gold, and precious

things past the telling, and all the land rejoiced and gloried in

Siawush, the noble heir unto the throne. Yea, and to celebrate his

return, there was given a banquet such as the world hath not seen the

like, and behold! none were toasted save Siawush alone.

But unto the Prince, his return home brought no joy so great as that of

being reunited with the beautiful young mother whom he not only

resembled but also adored. But alas! his happiness was of short

duration. For, in the midst of the festivities which celebrated his

homecoming, the fair young Queen fell suddenly ill and died.

Alas! no words can describe the sorrow of the noble young Prince for his

mother. For, unto the impressionable lad, who had lived his life thus

far principally as a warrior among men, the gentle presence of this

lovely spirit exercised a wonderful charm. So, quickly had mother and

son become inseparable, and this congenial companionship did much,

though unconsciously, to develop that strength and beauty of character

which was the Queen’s most precious legacy unto her son, and which

causes his name still to be loved and revered by all the Children of

Ormuzd.

But not long was Siawush allowed to indulge his grief, for after the

days of mourning were over, for seven years longer was his education

continued, under the tutorship of the wisest men in the land. Howbeit,

in the eighth year, after that Kaikous had proved his spirit, he gave

unto his son a throne and a crown. So all was well, and men forgot the

evil message of the stars concerning Siawush. But alas! the day of ill

fortune was now not far distant from the noble son of Kaikous.

For behold! Sudaveh, the wife of the Shah, having no son of her own,

became jealous of Siawush, the noble heir to the throne. And, finding

that she could not by wile lure him into the paths of evil and

destruction, lo, she hated him—though she tried to win his liking. But

Siawush would not make friends with Sudaveh because he perceived that

her thoughts were evil, and because enshrined in his heart was the

memory of his own fair mother who had taught him to value honor, and

purity, and truth above all things in the world.

Seeing, therefore, that she could neither win Siawush unto herself, nor

yet make him love the wrong, behold, Sudaveh was very wroth, and

unscrupulously she plotted his ruin. At first she complained unto the

King of Siawush, slandering his fair fame, thus trying to prejudice him

against his son. Then she caused the most evil reports to be circulated

throughout the land damaging to the honor of the Prince. And finally,

when the time was ripe, this wicked woman devised a plot against Siawush

so deep and cunning that it was impossible for the King to decide as to

the guilt or innocence of his son. In his perplexity, therefore, after

consulting his Mubids, Kaikous decided to put Siawush to the ordeal of

fire, in order to test his innocence.

So now it came to pass that the King caused dromedaries to be sent

forth, even unto the borders of the land, to bring cords and cords of

wood from the forests. And behold! when it was brought, there was reared

a mighty heap of logs, so that the eye could perceive it at a distance

of two farsangs, and it was piled so that a narrow path ran through its

midst. And this being accomplished, the Shah next commanded that naphtha

be poured upon the wood and that it be lighted. And alas! so great was

the pyre in width and height that two hundred men were needed to kindle

it, and lo! the flames and smoke overspread all the heavens, so that men

shuddered with fear when they beheld the tongues of fire; and so great

was the heat thereof that it was felt in the far corners of the land.

And presently, the preparations being all completed, Kaikous commanded

Siawush, his son, that he ride into the midst of the burning pyres. So,

attired in his golden helmet and white robe, and mounted upon a

coal-black charger, Siawush advanced unto Kaikous, saluting him. Then

fearlessly he rode forward, commending his soul unto the Almighty. Now

as he entered upon the fiery path, a great cry of sorrow arose from all

the people, for they loved their brave young Prince, and they dreamed

not that any man could come forth alive from such a fiery furnace.

Therefore they murmured against Kaikous, as did all his nobles, for

their hearts were filled with wrath against the King for permitting this

wicked deed. So, for long minutes, naught was heard but the angry murmur

of the people and the fierce cackle of the hungry flames.

But, though all of Iran grieved, one there was of the King’s own

household who exulted in this terrible scene. For, when the wicked

Sudaveh saw from her windows the fierce flames that struggled to mount

unto heaven, she came forth upon the roof of her house. And alas! so

given over unto evil was she, that when she beheld Siawush leap so

bravely into the fiery depths, she danced and clapped her hands, praying

unto the Wicked One, and whispering fierce incantations and charms that

should cause destruction unto the Hero.

But behold! with soul uplifted unto Ormuzd, undaunted, Siawush rode

boldly through the fiery flames, his white robes and ebon steed being

plainly visible unto all. Yea, fearlessly he rode, hasting not at all,

but pressing steadily forward, until he was come unto the end of the

pathway. And having come forth, lo, there was not singed so much as a

hair of his head, neither had the smoke blackened his garments.

Then, realizing that it had been vouchsafed unto him to come through the

test safely, involuntarily Siawush raised his eyes unto the starry sky

in thanksgiving unto Ormuzd the Blessed. And lo! floating above the

great burning pyres, which were now throwing out a tremendous heat, he

beheld two white-robed figures. And lo, one was Serosch, the Angel of

Pity, and the other his fair young mother. Now beholding this vision,

yearningly the young Prince stretched forth his arms, for suddenly the

earth had grown hateful unto him. But even as he gazed, the figures

vanished, and the world seemed chill and cold in spite of the blazing

fire.

The heart of Siawush was soon warmed, however, for when the people

beheld that their noble young Prince was come forth alive, they rent the

air with their shouts of joy. And Kaikous, seeing that the fire had not

touched his son, knew indeed that Siawush was pure of heart. So he

raised him from the ground, placing him beside him upon the throne, and

asking forgiveness for his evil doubts. Then in his joy Kaikous feasted

Siawush for three days. On the fourth day, however, the King mounted

upon the throne of light, commanding that Sudaveh, his much-loved wife,

be brought before him. And behold! when she was come into his presence,

Kaikous reproached her for her evil deeds, bidding her make ready to

depart the world, since death was to be the penalty of her misdeeds.

But Sudaveh, who knew her power over the King, pleaded eloquently for

her life, asserting that Siawush had escaped, not because of his

innocence, but by the power of magic. Nevertheless, the King, hardening

his heart, gave orders that she be led forth unto death; and all the

nobles approved the decision, for they knew that the woman was powerful

for evil. But now Siawush, being chivalrous and generous of heart,

pleaded for Sudaveh’s life, for he knew that her death would be a great

sorrow unto the King. So, the boon being granted, once more this wicked

woman was in a position to work mischief, and this she did right

speedily.

For lo, it is chronicled that about this time Afrasiab again invaded

Persia with a mighty host, thinking to gain possession of the land.

Whereupon, Kaikous, greatly angered because the Tartar had broken his

covenant, quickly made ready his army to oppose him. Then Siawush,

hearing that the King himself expected to lead forth the men of Iran,

having sought audience with his father, asked it as his right that he be

permitted to lead forth the host.

So, permission being granted, Siawush set about preparing himself and

his men for the coming campaign. But, as he was inexperienced in war,

and his foe was wily and powerful, swift messengers were sent unto

Rustem, bidding him go forth to battle with his charge, to guard and aid

him with his experience. And Rustem, whose heart leaped once more at the

thought of battle, answering, said:

“O King of Kings! Verily thy noble son Siawush is unto me the light of

my eyes and the joy of my soul, for it seemeth unto me that in him

Sohrab yet liveth. Therefore will I go forth once more unto battle.”

So the trumpets of war were sounded, and the two Mighty Ones led forth

the host to meet the enemy. And behold! when the two armies encountered

each other upon the field of battle, Siawush fought so bravely that even

Rustem was amazed, for his had seemed to be the gentler and nobler

virtues. Yea, and inspired by their noble young leader, so valiantly did

the men of Iran fight, that after three fiercely-contested battles, the

Persians finally succeeded in shutting up the enemy in Balkh, the

capital of Afrasiab.

Now when the news of this calamity was carried unto the King of the

Tartars, he was seized with the utmost terror, which was increased by a

frightful dream which visited his slumbers. Yea, so terrible was it,

that Gersiwaz, the King’s brother, found the brave Afrasiab lying upon

the floor of his chamber, roaring in agony of spirit, and shouting like

a man bereft of reason. And alas! even when he finally recovered his

wits, still did he continue to tremble with terror and fright, for he

feared that his hour was come. Nor did the Mubids give him comfort, for

they revealed unto the King that Siawush would bring destruction upon

Turan, hearing which, Afrasiab said unto Gersiwaz:

“O my brother! Never shall I recover from the horror of my dream. But

surely if I cease from warring against Siawush, disaster will be

avoided. It behooveth me, therefore, to send unto this powerful young

Prince, silver, and jewels, and rich gifts, that thus we may bind up

with gold the eye of war.”

So the King bade his brother take from the royal treasury, gold and

jewels of price to bear unto the camp of Siawush, together with a

message, saying:

“O Prince of a Noble House! Verily, since the days of Selim and Tus,

when Irij was slain unjustly, hath the world been disturbed by our wars.

Now, once for all, let us forget these things, that peace may reign once