“Art thou so tired of life that reckless thus
Thou dost invade the precincts of demons?
Tell me thy name, that I may not destroy
A nameless thing.”
The warrior then replied, “My name is Rustem, sent by Zāl, my father, who was descended from Sām Suwār, to be revenged on thee; the king of Persia being now a prisoner at Mazinderān.”
When the demon heard the name of Suwār he cringed with fear. Then springing forward he hurled the huge stone against his adversary who fell back, and thus avoided the fearful blow.
The demon frowned more darkly, and Rustem wielding high his sword, severed one dreadful limb. Then they grappled in a death struggle, and the mountain trembled beneath the shock. The flesh of both was torn, and the streaming blood crimsoned the earth. As the fearful strife went on, Rustem said in his heart, “If I survive this dreadful day I am surely immortal,” and the White Demon muttered to himself, “I now despair of life—sweet life—nevermore shall I be welcomed at Mazinderān.”
And still they struggled on, while sweat and blood were mingled at every strain of muscle, until Rustem, gathering all his power for one last effort, raised up the gasping demon in his arms and threw him over the face of the cliff into a yawning chasm below. The monster fell, and the life-blood oozed from the crushed and mangled form. Then rushing down the steep incline, beside the mountain, he tore out the heart of the conquered demon, and releasing his fettered guide he hastened away to restore the sight of the king and his helpless warriors.
“The Champion brought the demon’s heart
And squeezed the blood from every part,