Suhráb, still musing on his mother's words,
Went spear in hand. They chose a battle-ground
Where room was scant, and fought with javelins
Till points and whipping broke; next, wheeling left-ward,
Closed with their Indian scimitars and showered
Sparks from their blades, which shivered 'neath such
strokes
As might have heralded the Day of Doom;
Then took their massive maces and fought on
Until their weapons bent beneath the blows.
The chargers staggered and their bards dropped off;
The riders raged beneath their shivered mail;
Both were fordone and hand and arm both failed.
With bodies running sweat, with mouths dust-choked,
And tongues thirst-cracked, at length the champions
parted,
The sire in anguish and the son exhausted.
O world! thy doings are a mystery,
The broken and the whole both come from thee!
Love stirred in neither of these twain, no trace
Of wisdom was there, love showed not its face!
The fish in streams, wild asses on the plain,
And beasts of burden know their young again,
But toil and lust forbid a man to know
The difference between a child and foe!

Then Rustam thought: “I never yet beheld
A Crocodile fight thus. Compared with this
To fight the White Dív was an easy task:
To-day my heart despaireth through a man!
The hand of one who is unpractised yet,
No warrior and not named among the chiefs,
Hath made me weary of my life in sight
Of both the hosts!”

The chargers being rested,

The youthful hero and the man in years
Strung up their bows, but still the coats of mail,
The breastplates, and the tiger-skin cuirass
Received no injury from the arrow-points,
And then each hero, raging at his foe,
Seized on the other by the leathern belt.
Now Rustam, had he clutched a rock in battle,
E'en the Black Stone itself,*

had torn it out,
But when he seized the belt and would unhorse
Suhráb, the young man's waist felt not the tug,
And Rustam's hand was foiled. He quitted hold,
He marvelled at the prowess of his foe,
And then these lion-quellers, satiate
With battle, bruised, and wounded drew apart.
Suhráb again took from his saddle-bow
The massive mace, and gripping with his legs
Smote Rustam grievously upon the shoulder,
Who though he winced yet bravely bare the pain.
Suhráb laughed out and cried: “O cavalier!
Thou canst not bear the buffets of the brave.
Thy charger, one would say, is but an ass;
As for the rider both his hands are naught.

A warrior though cypress-tall is foolish
To play the youth when he is in his dotage.”
Each humbled by the other turned away.
They parted, troubled both in heart and mind.
Like leopard sighting prey the mighty Rustam
Went to attack the army of Túrán,
While brave Suhráb assailed the Íránian host
And gave his fleet steed rein. He charged the foe
And many a warrior perished by his hand.
Wolf-like he scattered small and great. The heart
Of Rustam boded ill. “Káús will suffer,”
He thought, “from this brave Turkman just arrived
With mail-clad breast and arms.”

He hasted back

To camp with anxious heart. There mid the host
He saw Suhráb—a lion mad for prey—
The ground about him tulip-hued with blood,
His spearpoint, hands, and mail all drenched with gore.
Then Rustam raging like a furious lion
Exclaimed: “Bloodthirsty Turkman: who of all
This host opposed thee? Why hast thou not kept
Thy hands for me instead of coming thus
Like wolf among a flock?”

Suhráb replied:—

“The army of Túrán is holding back
From strife, and doing nothing to provoke it,

Yet thou began'st it by assailing them
When none sought battle and revenge on thee!”
“Light faileth,” Rustam said. “On its return
A throne and gibbet wait us on this plain.
For all the bright world yieldeth to the sword,
And if thine arms are so familiar
With scimitar and arrow never die!
Come we with vengeful swords at break of day
To learn the Maker's will, but now away!”