It came to pass that five score thousand Arabs,
Brave, spear-armed cavaliers, marched forth. Shu'íb—
A chief sprung from Katíb—commanded them.

The monarch of Írán led forth a host,
'Tis said, beyond compute. The armies met;
The world was all in dudgeon at the troops;
The earth could not support them; none had room
To stir within that land. The rain of arrows,
And double-headed javelins, made the soil
A cistern seem of blood. On every side
The war-cry rose, and corpses showed in piles.
Thus for three days and nights the battle waged,
The age was straitened to the combatants.
The Arabs on the fourth day turned away,
And in the night fled from the scene of strife,
Shu'íb himself was slain upon the field
Of battle, and the Arabs' day was done.
A host of Arab steeds with poplar saddles,
A mass of helmets, spears, and coats of mail—
The havings of the fugitives—remained
With that world's lord, the offspring of Humái,
Who gave the whole thereof—the steeds and spears,
The helms and swords—in largess to the troops.
He chose a marchlord, one among the host,
Who understood the language of the folk,
And sent him to demand the tribute due
From those waste parts, that year's and last year's
too.