Cyrus, having satisfied himself that the Touranians were really coming to battle, turned to his generals and said: “At last the Touranians have decided to fight! We must not only repel this attack but must utterly destroy them, so that hereafter the terror of our name shall command peace! Take no prisoners! This day we shall avenge the wrongs of Iran in the death of its ancient enemies! Should it happen that I be slain in this battle, my cousin, the King of Iran, will command. In case he also should fall, his son, our beloved Prince, will command.”
His piercing black eyes rested a moment upon the Prince’s countenance. The latter flushed with pleasure at the honor done him, and bowed in acknowledgment. The King continued: “The King of Iran will remain at my side. I shall need his advice. There will be no change in the plans announced last evening. With the help of Ahura-Mazda, this day we will fill that torrent-bed with Touranian dead! You, Prince of Iran, have the most important duty. Ride down upon their rear as soon as you see their front ranks engaged with our infantry. Officers, go to your places! Let the skirmishers advance farther into the plain!”
The group scattered, each officer riding to his place. Cyrus and the King of Iran retired across the torrent-bed to the eminence at the rear of the left wing of the army. The Prince of Iran mounted and hurried to his command. Trumpets sounded. The light cavalry of the skirmish line moved briskly out upon the plain. The Touranians came on, a vast throng with but little semblance of order. Their leaders rode in advance at intervals, and the front ranks only preserved an irregular alignment. The two opposing forces slowly drew near each other. The shaggy coats made of hairy skins, the tall, peaked caps, and the fierce, dark faces of the Touranians soon became plainly visible to their opponents. The former were surprised at the apparent weakness of the latter and began to utter shouts of derision and defiance. These shouts presently blended into a great roar as the soldiers demanded of their leaders the right to charge.
But the Touranian leaders were wary. They thought that but a fraction of the Persian army was here, possibly an advance guard sent out to delay their progress. They were puzzled and hesitated. But when the enemy halted at long bowshot distance and sent a flight of arrows into their crowded battalions, they lost control of their men. Screams of agony arose, and a roar of angry shouts. Another flight of arrows and a third smote the Touranians. Their own bowmen sought to reply, but their bows were weak and their arrows fell short. Then came a vast forward movement of the mass. Leaders were swallowed up in the midst of galloping squadrons. The skirmishers of Iran retreated, but turned in their saddles and shot backwards with fatal effect. Eager to overtake the flying archers, the Touranians threw caution to the winds and urged their horses to full speed. The earth shook with the beat of a million hoofs, and the air was rent by the terrific volume of savage war-cries. No line of infantry ever formed could have withstood the impetus of that charge if unprotected by ditch or wall.
The herons, affrighted, spread their broad wings, sprang out of the yellow waters of the Jaxartes, and hastily flapped away. The conflict had begun.
After pausing at the margin of the torrent-bed to send one last flight of arrows into their pursuers, the skirmishers of Cyrus quickly descended into and crossed it, passed through the ranks of the infantry, which opened to permit their passage, and formed in line on the ridge beyond. The Touranian leaders were surprised when the fugitives disappeared from their view in the chasm as if the earth had swallowed them up, and, guessing the reason, frantically screamed orders for their men to halt. But the noise was so great that the orders were unheard. The shaggy horses of the leading ranks came at full speed to the margin of the torrent-bed and, unable to halt, plunged headlong down into it. Many horses and riders went down and were ridden over, crushed and mangled. Some retained their footing and struggled across the bottom of the ditch and up the opposite slope to assault the Aryan infantry. But the momentum of their rush was lost. The gleaming hedge of spears, protruding from behind the wicker shields, was terrible to horse and rider. The Touranians struck at the spear-points with their curved scimiters and endeavored to force ways between them. Masses of horsemen poured into the great ditch and struggled forward. Pushed on from behind, those in front could not avoid contact with the darting spears, which, in the hands of sinewy and practiced veterans, gashed horse and rider and threw them down in dying, struggling heaps.
The rear ranks of Cyrus’ army came into action. They hurled clouds of javelins and arrows over the heads of the men in front upon the confused mass of assailants. The slaughter was horrible. But the Touranians in the front could not retreat had they desired. Those in front were crowded on, over dead and dying, upon the darting spears and against the wicker shields, overthrowing the shields and pushing back the Aryan infantry by sheer weight. Especially at the extreme left, where Cyrus was watching the struggle, did this backward movement of his lines take place. Here the water-course was wider and shallower than elsewhere and the advance was not so difficult. Here and there the Touranians succeeded in getting between the Aryan spears and with fierce strokes opened ways into the midst of the infantry. The latter, dropping their spears, fought with battle-ax and sword. The contest became a mad swirl of screaming, plunging horses, shouting men, gleaming swords, and slashing axes. Heads were crushed, limbs lopped off, bodies hurled to earth, horses brained and hamstrung. Ever the stout veterans of Cyrus faced their enemy, unterrified, sweating, grunting, and cursing, as they stabbed and hewed; but they were forced back step by step.
Cyrus watched the struggle with anxiety. There seemed no end to the on-pressing masses of the enemy. More and yet more poured down into the vale of death and pushed across to the assault. Javelins and arrows were becoming exhausted. The infantrymen were fighting furiously, but were beginning to show weariness. Casting his eyes often to the distant hills, he presently noted with satisfaction that the Prince of Iran and his guards were passing down into the plain at the rear of the enemy’s left. He then ordered the light-armed cavalry to the assistance of the infantry at the center and right, and placing himself at the head of that division of the Imperial Guard held in reserve, he led it into the affray just as the infantry, pressed back by sheer weight of numbers, seemed about to be overwhelmed. The heavy horsemen of the Guard rode forward smartly and plunged into the battle. Prodigies of valor were performed. The infantrymen, seeing their King in their midst swinging his battle-ax with deadly effect, renewed their efforts. Huge Otanes with mighty strokes and protecting shield endeavored to ward off from Cyrus all blows aimed at him. King Hystaspis of Iran rode along the battle-lines towards the right. Everywhere the battle was close, fierce, and deadly.
Meanwhile the Prince of Iran with the Guard rode down into the plain, and with javelins at rest charged the Touranians in flank and rear. This soon relieved the pressure in front. Confusion and terror seized the Touranians. Those who sought to resist went down before the shock of the huge Persian horses and the thrust of the long javelins.
The contest became a slaughter. Thousands of the luckless Touranians rode into the river, seeking to ford it and thus escape; but quicksands and treacherous water-holes swallowed them up or mired them down, so that they became easy prey to the pursuing archers. The Aryan infantry assumed the offensive, crossed the torrent-bed, and drove the Touranians back upon the lances of the Guard, who in turn hurled them back upon the infantry. The larger part died. Some broke through and fled. The noon sun looked down upon heaps of slain and wounded, upon despairing squads flying over hill and plain, and upon a river whose waters were red with blood and choked with bodies. The Aryan victory was complete, overwhelming, and decisive.