Then peerless Rustam seized his massive mace,
The great and small were all alike to him;
The battlefield was such that ant and gnat
Had scarcely room to stir on plain and dale;
Blood ran in streams from wounded and from slain
Flung headlong down or headless. When the foe's
Bright fortune loured 'twas nearly night, there came
A blast with murk, light quitted sun and moon,
And then the foe, not knowing head from foot,
Took to the desert and the longsome road.
Pírán beheld that fight and fortune grown
So gloomy to Manshúr, Fartús, the Khán,
And Turkman chiefs; saw standards down, the
wounded
Laid vilely in the dust, and thus he said
To Nastíhan the warrior and Kulbád:—
“We must lay by two-headed dart and sword.”
Gív overthrew the sable flag, the foe
Dispersing by the roads and pathless tracts.
He routed all the right wing, made the dales
And plains like feathers of a francolin,
And sought upon the army's left and right
To find Pírán, but when they found him not
The warriors returned to vengeful Rustam.
The war-steeds were disabled with the work;
They all were wounded and fordone with fight.
The troops went to the mountain well content
With Rustam and his escort at their head,
Their bodies injured but their hearts rejoicing
About the battle, as is this world's use.
The helms and mail were smirched with blood and
dust,
The horses' bards were riven. Heads, feet, swords,
And stirrups were begored, the hills and dales
Were hidden by the slain, the troops so masked
That none could know another till they bathed.
They washed their bodies and forgot their pains
Because their foes were bound in heavy chains.