He spoke; and Sohrab kindled at his taunts,
  And he too drew his sword; at once they rushed
  Together, as two eagles on one prey
  Come rushing down together from the clouds,
  One from the east, one from the west; their skulls
  Dashed with a clang together, and a din
  Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters
  Make often in the forest’s heart at morn,
  Of hewing axes, crashing trees,—­such blows
  Rustum and Sohrab on each other hailed.

It was only on the fifth day that Rustem, forgetting everything in the excitement of the moment, met his foe with his usual war cry, “Rustem, Rustem.”  The mere sound of so beloved a name so paralyzed Sorab, that, instead of meeting this onslaught, he sank beneath his father’s blow.  Then he gasped that, although dying, his adversary could not pride himself upon having fairly won the victory, for nothing short of his father’s name could have disarmed him thus!

  “But that beloved name unnerved my arm,—­
  That name, and something, I confess, in thee,
  Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield
  Fall; and thy spear transfixed an unarmed foe. 
  And now thou boastest, and insult’st my fate. 
  But hear thou this, fierce man, tremble to hear: 
  The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death! 
  My father, whom I seek through all the world,
  He shall avenge my death, and punish thee!”

On hearing these words, Rustem anxiously demanded explanation, only to learn that the man he had mortally wounded was his own son, as was only too surely proved by the bracelet decorated with the Simurgh which Sorab exhibited.

  It was that griffin which of old reared Zal,
  Rustum’s great father, whom they left to die,
  A helpless babe, among the rocks;
  Him that kind creature found, and reared, and loved;
  Then Rustum took it for his glorious sign.

Not only did broken-hearted Rustem hang over his dying son in speechless grief, but the steed Rakush wept bitter tears over the youth who had so longed to bestride him.

      And awe fell on both the hosts,
  When they saw Rustum’s grief; and Ruksh, the horse,
  With his head bowing to the ground, and mane
  Sweeping the dust, came near, and in mute woe
  First to the one, then to the other, moved
  His head, as if inquiring what their grief
  Might mean; and from his dark compassionate eyes,
  The big warm tears rolled down and caked the sand.

In hopes of saving his son, Rustem vainly implored the foolish monarch to bestow upon him a drop of some magic ointment he owned.  But Sorab expired without this aid in Rustem’s arms, and the broken-hearted father burned his remains on a pyre.  Then he conveyed to his home Sorab’s ashes, and sent the young hero’s riderless steed back to his poor mother, who died of grief.