A warrior named Ashkabús, whose voice
Was like a kettledrum's, came forth to challenge
The Íránians, bent to lay some foeman's head
In dust. He cried: “Which of you famous men
Will come to fight with me, that I may make
His blood to flow in streams?”

Ruhhám on hearing

Sent up his battle-cry, stormed like the sea,
Took up his bow—the horseman's ambuscade—
And showered arrows on that famous chief,
But he was clad in panoply of steel,
And arrows were like wind upon his tunic.
Ruhhám then raised his massive mace. The hands
Of both grew weary, but Ruhhám's mace failed
Upon the other's helm, much as he sought
To deal a fatal blow, till Ashkabús,
His heavy mace in hand, while earth seemed iron
And heaven ebony, smote brave Ruhhám
Upon the helm and smashed it, who thus worsted
Wheeled round and sought the heights. Tús at the
centre
Raged and spurred forth to go at Ashkabús,
But matchless Rustam said to him in wrath:—
“Ruhhám's fit comrade is a bowl of wine.
He holdeth swords as playthings in his cups,
And vaunteth of himself among the brave;
Now whither hath he gone, who was a match
For Ashkabús, with cheeks like sandarach?
Keep in the army's centre—thy fit place—
And I will fight afoot.”

He slung his bow

Upon his arm, stuck arrows in his belt,
And shouted, saying: “O thou man of war!
Thine adversary cometh: go not back.”
He of Kashán laughed in astonishment,
Then checked his steed and, calling to his foe,
Said, laughing still, to him: “What is thy name,
And who will mourn thee when thy head is off?”

The peerless Rustam answered: “Hapless one!
Why askest thou my name among the folk?
My mother called me by this name—‘Thy death!’
Fate made me for the hammer of thy helm.”
He of Kashán replied: “Without a horse
Thou givest up thyself to slaughtering!”
Then peerless Rustam: “Senseless challenger!
Hast thou ne'er seen foot-soldiers lay proud heads
Beneath the stones? Do lions, crocodiles,
And leopards fight on horseback in thy country?
Now I, foot-soldier as I am, will teach
Thee how to fight, O mounted warrior!
Tús for this purpose sent me forth afoot
That I might get a horse from Ashkabús.
He of Kashán like me will foot it then,
And all will laugh at him. Afoot one man
Is worth three hundred cavaliers like thee
Upon this plain, this day, and in this fight.”
He of Kashán inquired: “Where are thine arms?
I see not aught but mockery and jests.”
Quoth Rustam: “Thou shalt see the bow and arrows
Whereby thy life shall end.”

He marked the pride

Of Ashkabús in his fine steed, and shot
An arrow at its breast; the charger fell
Headforemost. Rustam laughed and cried aloud:—
“Sit by thy noble comrade! Prithee nurse
Its head and rest thee from the fight awhile.”

Then Ashkabús, his body quivering,
His face like sandarach, strung up his bow,
And showered shafts on Rustam, who exclaimed:—
“In vain thou weariest thy wicked soul,
Thine arms, and body.”

Choosing from his girdle

A shaft of poplar wood he drew it forth
Bright-pointed, feathered with four eagle-plumes;
Then took his bow of Chách in hand and set
His thumbstall to the deer-hide string; he straightened
His left arm, curved his right; the bent bow sang;
The shaft's point reached his ear; the deer-hide
hummed;
The shaft's point bussed his finger and its notch
Was at his back; he loosed and struck the breast
Of Ashkabús; the sky kissed Rustam's hand;
Then destiny cried: “Take!” and fate cried: “Give!”
The heavens cried: “Excellent!” the angels: “Good!”
He of Kashán expired, thou wouldst have said:—
“His mother never bare him!”

Both the hosts

Beheld that fight. Kámús marked with the Khán
The lofty stature, strength, and fire of Rustam,
And, when he had withdrawn, the Khán dispatched
A cavalier, who drew the arrow forth
All bloody to the plumes! They passed it round
And thought it was a spear! The Khán's heart aged
When he beheld the feathers and the point.
He spake thus to Pírán: “Who is this man?
What is his name among the Íránian chiefs?
‘They are a paltry remnant,’ were thy words,
‘Not on a par with men of high degree,’

Whereas their arrows are like spears! A mountain
Hath little heart to fight them; thou didst make
The matter small indeed, but thine account
Was false throughout!”

“None know I of this class,”

Pírán replied, “within the Íránian host,
None who can send his arrows through a tree-trunk,
Nor know I what this miscreant's aims may be.
The men possessed of stature, Grace, and prowess
Among the Íránian host are Tús and Gív,
And in the fight Húmán hath often made
The world as black as ebony to Tús.
I know not who is this Íránian,
Or who among our troops will prove his match;
But I will go and ask among the tents;
We will make out his name at all events.”