How Káús and Rustam led forth the Host

When Sol had pierced night's pitch-hued cloak and comeForth from the veil Káús bade Gív and TúsTo bind the drums upon the elephants.He oped the treasury-door, gave out supplies,Then called to horse and loaded up the baggage.A hundred thousand cavaliers in mailWent into camp, and as the army marchedHeaven darkened with the chargers' dust. The tentsAnd tent-enclosures stretched two miles, and earthWas clad with elephants and horses' shoes;The sky grew dark as indigo, earth turnedTo ebony, the drum-roll shook the plain.The army marched, the sun's bright visage gloomed,And double-pointed javelin and dartFlashed like a flame through dust as through a veil.What with the spears and flags of divers fashion,The golden bucklers and the golden boots,Thou wouldst have said: "There came an ebon cloudWhich showered sandarac." The world discerned notBetween the night and day, and thou hadst saidThat neither sky nor Pleiades existed.Thus marched the army, hiding soil and rock,Until it neared the portal of the stronghold.

An outcry from the lookout warned Suhráb:—"A host hath come." He mounted to the wallsTo view it and then showed it to Húmán,Who, when he saw so great a multitudeApproaching, was afraid and held his breath.Suhráb the hero said: "Relieve thy heartOf care, thou wilt not see in this vast hostA single warrior or massive maceMeet me upon the field though sun and moonBe on their side. The men and arms abound,Yet know I nothing of the leaders' names!Now by the fortune of AfrásiyábWill I make all the desert like a sea."

Descending, light of heart and unconcerned,He joined the revels of the revellers,And recked not of the war.

The ÍrániansSet up the camp-enclosure of the SháhBefore the castle on the open plain;Men, tentage, and enclosures covered hillAnd wilderness till naught was left to fill.