signal the cup-bearer produced goblets of the
red wine of Zabul; and in one of them Rustem pledged his royal master
with loyalty, and Tus and Zuara joined in the convivial and social
demonstration of attachment to the king.

The champion arrayed in his buburiyan, mounted Rakush, and advanced
towards the Turanian army. Afrasiyab, when he beheld him in all his
terrible strength and vigor, was amazed and disheartened, accompanied,
as he was, by Tus, and Gudarz, and Gurgin, and Giw, and Bahram, and
Berzin, and Ferhad. The drums and trumpets of Rustem were now heard, and
immediately the hostile forces engaged with dagger, sword, and javelin.
Dreadful was the onset, and the fury with which the conflict was
continued. In truth, so sanguinary and destructive was the battle that
Afrasiyab exclaimed in grief and terror: "If this carnage lasts till the
close of day, not a man of my army will remain alive. Have I not one
warrior endued with sufficient bravery to oppose and subdue this mighty
Rustem? What! not one fit to be rewarded with a diadem, with my own
throne and kingdom, which I will freely give to the victor!" Pilsum
heard the promise, and was ambitious of earning the reward; but fate
decreed it otherwise. His prodigious efforts were of no avail. Alkus was
equally unsuccessful, though the bravest of the brave among the Turanian
warriors. Encountering Rustem, his brain was pierced by a javelin
wielded by the Persian hero, and he fell dead from his saddle. This
signal achievement astonished and terrified the Turanians, who, however,
made a further despairing effort against the champion and his seven
conquering companions, but with no better result than before, and
nothing remained to them excepting destruction or flight. Choosing the
latter they wheeled round, and endeavored to escape from the sanguinary
fate that awaited them.

Seeing this precipitate movement of the enemy, Rustem impelled Rakush
forward in pursuit, addressing his favorite horse with fondness and
enthusiasm:--

"My valued friend--put forth thy speed,
This is a time of pressing need;
Bear me away amidst the strife,
That I may take that despot's life;
And with my mace and javelin, flood
This dusty plain with foe-man's blood."

Excited by his master's cry,
The war-horse bounded o'er the plain,
So swiftly that he seemed to fly,
Snorting with pride, and tossing high
His streaming mane.

And soon he reached that despot's side,