Part 18

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: