بخش 14

Two relentless weeks of war passed, and with each day the matter grew darker. Zariir, the fortunate champion, strode into the heart of the field—wolf-wise and lion-brave—mounted on a mighty destrier; he fell upon the enemy like fire upon dry reeds and like a sharp wind across the plain: he slew and cast them down, and none could stand before him. When Arjasp saw that the prince was laying his host to ruin, he cried out to his nobles and captains three times: Find a stratagem, for if this continues, neither Itash nor Khallukh nor even Chin will remain. Whoever can unhorse that whirlwind of a rider, I will give him my daughter and entrust my army to him. But the ranks, fearful and abashed, gave no answer. Zariir raged like a drunken elephant and a raging lion, trampling men under his feet; Arjasp grew confounded—his bright day turned to black night—and again he shouted: Look to your kin and your wounded, hear the lamenting of the broken; that champion on our flank burns like a blaze—his mace is like Sam’s and his arrows like Arash’s. Who among you is skilled enough to face that maddened elephant? Again, silence spread across the host. Then a flagless giant—vile and wicked, a sorcerer, an old wolf—stepped forward and said to Arjasp: In strength and frame I am as Afrasiab; I will make my life a shield for yours. I shall go before that frenzied beast, and if fate grants me a hand upon him, I will cast him to the dust. The king rejoiced and praised him; he entrusted the man with his own horse and saddle, and gave him a poison-laced javelin—keen enough to pass through an iron mountain. The sorcerer, keeping to the shadows, drew near the wise prince on horseback; seeing him—face grimed, eyes blood-bright—his wrath rose. He did not dare approach head-on; from concealment he wheeled around and hurled the venomous shaft; it pierced the royal cuirass, and the princely body was drenched in blood. Zariir fell from the saddle, and death took him. The flagless fiend dismounted and stripped his gear, bearing his horse and belt, his black standard and jeweled crown, to the king of Chin; the army raised a roar that shook the clouds. Goshtasp, looking down from the mountain, could not see the warrior whose light had brightened the whole battlefield—his brother Zariir. His heart turned to blood; he tore his garments and flung dust upon the royal diadem, and said to Jamasp the wise: How shall I send a messenger, and what shall I tell Shah Lohrasp, that aged father? Alas for that princely moon now swallowed by cloud. Then he commanded: set the Goshtaspi saddle upon the Lohraspi steed; we shall seek Zariir’s vengeance and exalt the faith and rite. The seasoned counselor said: This is no hour to rush into revenge. The king obeyed and sat back, then cried to the army: Which lion among you will bring back the vengeance of noble Zariir, seize his horse and saddle? Whoever steps forth from the midst, I will give him my daughter, Homay. Yet no one stirred from his place.