One-on-one Demon Combat

THE SCENE: Rostam, the great Persian hero, engages in a fight to the death with powerful demon. Rostam’s eventual victory is as much a victory over his own fear and despair as it is against the forces of darkness.

THE TEXT:  Advancing to the cavern, he looked down
  And saw a gloomy place, dismal as hell;
  But not one cursed, impious sorcerer
  Was visible in that infernal depth.
  Awhile he stood–his falchion in his grasp,
  And rubbed his eyes to sharpen his dim sight,
  And then a mountain-form, covered with hair,
  Filling up all the space, rose into view.
  

The monster was asleep, but presently
  The daring shouts of Rustem broke his rest,
  And brought him suddenly upon his feet,
  When seizing a huge mill-stone, forth he came,
  And thus accosted the intruding chief:
  “Art thou so tired of life, that reckless thus
  Thou dost invade the precincts of the Demons?
  Tell me thy name, that I may not destroy
  A nameless thing!” The champion stern replied,
  “My name is Rustem–sent by Zál, my father,
  Descended from the champion Sám Súwár,
  To be revenged on thee–the King of Persia
  Being now a prisoner in Mázinderán.”
  When the accursed Demon heard the name
  Of Sám Súwár, he, like a serpent, writhed
  In agony of spirit; terrified
  At that announcement–then, recovering strength,
  He forward sprang, and hurled the mill-stone huge
  Against his adversary, who fell back
  And disappointed the prodigious blow.
  

Black frowned the Demon, and through Rustem’s heart
  A wild sensation ran of dire alarm;
  But, rousing up, his courage was revived,
  And wielding furiously his beaming sword,
  He pierced the Demon’s thigh, and lopped the limb;
  Then both together grappled, and the cavern
  Shook with the contest–each, at times, prevailed;
  The flesh of both was torn, and streaming blood
  Crimsoned the earth. “If I survive this day,”
  Said Rustem in his heart, in that dread strife,
  “My life must be immortal.” The White Demon,
  With equal terror, muttered to himself:
  “I now despair of life–sweet life; no more
  Shall I be welcomed at Mázinderán.”
  And still they struggled hard–still sweat and blood
  Poured down at every strain. Rustem, at last,
  Gathering fresh power, vouchsafed by favouring Heaven
  And bringing all his mighty strength to bear,
  Raised up the gasping Demon in his arms,
  And with such fury dashed him to the ground,
  That life no longer moved his monstrous frame.
  

Promptly he then tore out the reeking heart,
  And crowds of demons simultaneous fell
  As part of him, and stained the earth with gore;
  Others who saw this signal overthrow,
  Trembled, and hurried from the scene of blood.
  Then the great victor, issuing from that cave
  With pious haste–took off his helm, and mail,
  And royal girdle–and with water washed
  His face and body–choosing a pure place
  For prayer–to praise his Maker–Him who gave
  The victory, the eternal source of good;
  Without whose grace and blessing, what is man!
  With it his armor is impregnable.

The Shahnameh, Abolqasem Ferdowsi, 10th Century AD