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.