Then he stayed his steed in the midst of the field and
cried out, "Where is Afridoun, that I may make him drink the cup
of humiliation?" But King Herdoub conjured Afridoun not to budge
from the field, saying, "O King, it was thy turn yesterday:
to-day it is mine. I reck not of his prowess." So he pricked out
towards Zoulmekan, with a sabre in his hand and under him a jet
black horse, swift as he were Abjer, he that was Antar's horse,
even as says the poet:
He vies with the glance of the eye on a swift-footed steed, That
fares as it had a mind to outstrip Fate.
The hue of his hide is the blackest of all things black, Like
night, when the shadows shroud it in sable state.
The sound of his neighing troubles the hearts of men, As it were
thunder that echoes in heaven's gate.
If he run a race with the wind, he leads the way, Nor can the
lightning outstrip him, early or late.
Then each rushed upon the other, guarding himself from his blows
and showing the rare qualities that were in him and the wonders
of his prowess; and they fell to advancing and retreating and
ceased not to flee and return to the attack and wheel hither and
thither, till the breasts of the bystanders were straitened (for
anxiety) and they were weary of waiting for the event. At last,
Zoulmekan cried out and rushing upon Herdoub, King of Caesarea,
dealt him such a blow that he shore his head from his body and
made an end of him.
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