Gushtāsp replied: “’Tis true he may have served my ancestors, but what is that to me? His spirit is proud, and he refused to yield me needful aid when danger pressed; that is enough, and thou canst not divert me from my settled purpose.” Kitabūn, the mother of Isfendiyār, begged him to disobey the king rather than to undertake so dangerous and dishonorable a campaign. She claimed that curses must fall upon the throne, and ruin seize the country which returned evil for good and spurned its benefactor, and pleaded with him to restrain his steps, and engage not in a war which could do him no honor. But Isfendiyār replied that his word was pledged to his royal father, and taking a tender leave of his mother and bidding the king a formal farewell, he placed himself at the head of the Persian host, and set out upon the campaign in which he had so little heart. When he arrived in Rustem’s province, that chieftain rode out to welcome him, and cordially invited him to accept their hospitality. Isfendiyār was obliged to refuse the kindly offer and explain the unpleasant nature of his mission, whereupon Rustem promptly declined to be bound and carried in fetters to the Persian king. In order to save unnecessary bloodshed, it was decided to settle the matter by single combat, and the next morning Rustem rode out to meet his unwilling foe, and both were clad in shining mail. Rustem sat upon Rakush, while Isfendiyār rode a night-black charger, swift as the driving cloud, and in his stride he scattered the desert stones as if a hail-storm reveled around his master’s head. The chieftains closed in the long and useless fight, while many javelins whizzed upon the air, and helm and mail were bruised. Spear fractured spear, and then with gleaming swords the strife went on until they too snapped short. The battle-ax was next wielded in furious wrath; each bending forward struck the bewildering blows—each tried in vain to hurl the other from his fiery horse. Wearied at length, they stood apart to breathe, their chargers covered with foam and blood, and the strong armor of steed and rider both were rent. So severely was Rakush wounded that Rustem dismounted and impelled his arrows from the ground, while the gallant horse pursued his way painfully homeward. When Zūara saw the noble animal riderless crossing the plain he gasped for breath, and in an agony of grief he hastened to the fatal spot, where he found his gallant brother fighting still, even while the blood was flowing copiously from every wound. Isfendiyār had escaped with fewer wounds, and Zūara placed Rustem upon his own steed and offered himself as a substitute; but Rustem refused, saying that to-morrow he would continue the fight.