When King Khosrow Anushirvan returned from the hunting grounds to his royal palace, the grandees and noble mobads assembled before him. The King commanded Ardashir, the supreme Mobad and scribe of the realm, to bring forth Pahlavi parchment and reed pen. As the amber-hued ink flowed across the page, Ardashir first inscribed praises unto the Just Creator—He who fashioned the revolving heavens, the soaring heights, the warmth of life, and the bonds of love. All beings are His servants, and wisdom itself stands witness to His absolute majesty; not a breath is drawn nor an ant treads upon the earth without His sovereign decree.
Following the sacred prologue, Khosrow dictated his response to the Khaqan of China: 'First, thou didst speak of the Hephthalites, who girded themselves in malice, shed innocent blood without cause, and entangled themselves in their own snare. Yet know that even if an evil-doer possesses the strength of a lion, he must never dare defy the Almighty. Because they chose the ravenous path of the panther, they fell into their own pit, and victory was granted unto thee over them.
'Second, thou didst boast of thy vast treasures, thy countless hosts, the force of Faghfur, and thy exalted throne. Yet a wise man of noble lineage never sings his own praise. Thou hast never witnessed true imperial grandeur, nor seen royal crowns; thus the army of Chaj appeared wondrous in thy eyes. One should speak in such wise that he boasts not of treasures or armies unproven. The great ones of the earth have beheld my sovereign rule; I consider the vast sea of China not worth a single drop of water, and the solid mountains tremble when I stir. All the earth, wherever water flows and soil abides, lies beneath my treasury and tribute.
'Third, thou didst seek friendship and a union between our royal houses. I too seek the banquet rather than the battlefield, for no rational man prefers war over peaceful celebration. Yet a wise monarch never challenges a renowned warrior to battle—especially one who was forged in the crucible of war and needs no master in combat. In the heat of violent battle, one's heart must remain as tranquil as though seated upon a golden throne. May the Creator of the World be thy ally, and may thy crown and signet remain forever luminous.'
When the letter was brought to a close, it was sealed with the imperial signet of the King of Kings. According to ancient Kayanid rites, glorious robes of honor were prepared for the envoy, and Khosrow added further verbal messages. The ambassadors departed the imperial hall with joyful hearts, chanting praises unto the Shah.
Upon arriving before the Khaqan of China, the ruler cleared his court, ascended his golden throne, and summoned the envoys into his presence. He inquired extensively concerning Khosrow—of his intellect, wisdom, and majestic posture; of the size of his armies and the nobility who wore his signet rings; of his justice, his realm, his treasures, and his crown. The eloquent envoy opened his mouth and recounted all he had witnessed: 'O Great Sovereign! Do not deem Khosrow an inferior prince! During the days we abode in his court, whether in the hall of battle or the hunting wilderness, we saw no monarch like unto him. He stands tall as a cypress with the strength of a war elephant, and his generosity flows like the mighty Nile. Upon the throne, he is a sky of loyalty; upon the battlefield, a dragon of calamity. When enraged, he roars like a thundercloud, taming fierce lions with his voice; yet when he pours wine, his soft speech captures every heart. He is like the blessed angel Sorush upon his throne, a fruitful tree of glory.'
The envoy declared that all the host of Iran were his devout servants, ready to lay down their lives for his crown. When he pitches his imperial pavilion upon the plains, the world itself cannot contain his legions—mace-bearing paladins adorned with splendor, attendants wearing belts of gold, war elephants, ivory thrones, armlets, and radiant crowns. None can compute his majesty save the Almighty Creator. Should his enemy be a mountain of solid iron, it would pass through the eye of a needle before his burning wrath, and only he who is weary of life itself would dare raise a blade against King Anushirvan.