The Story of Rustem, and other Persian hero tales from Firdusi

by Elizabeth D. Renninger

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!”

They drew their long Indian swords and fell to work again.

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.