Tahmtan spurred Rakhsh with haste,

Following behind the warring Afrasiab.

He said thus to Rakhsh, “O good companion,

Do not be sluggish in the time of battle.”

“For I will make the king lifeless upon you,

I will make the color of the stones like coral with blood.”

Rakhsh, whose essence was fire, became so heated,

That you would say wings had come out from his sides.

Rostam opened the lasso from the saddle strap,

He wanted to bring him and tie him up.

The loop of the lasso fell on the Turk,

The commander of the Turks dodged it.

And moreover, his swift horse beneath him,

Rose from its place like fire.

The elephant-bodied hero escaped from the lasso,

His mouth dry and his body full of sweat from exertion.

Of the army, whoever was ready for battle,

Two thirds did not return to the tents.

Whether they were killed or wounded,

They were captured in the hands of that group.

Of the valuable horses with golden bridles,

Of helmets and swords with golden sheaths.

Besides this, whatever was more valuable also,

Much remained for the Iranians.

No one opened the midst of the slain,

The men did not seek the fallen.

They returned to that hunting plain,

They came back needless of any good fortune.

They wrote a letter to King Kavus,

About the Turks and the hunting plain.

And about that no one was killed from the brave ones,

Zavareh only fell from his horse, and that's all.

On that auspicious plain, for the champion,

He remained with a joyful spirit for two weeks.

On the third (occasion), they came to the king's court,

They came to see the fortunate king.

Such is the way of this transient world,

One in ease and another in hardship from it.

These and those days will also pass,

Why should a wise person grieve?

The words of this story have come to an end,

I will tell the story of Sohrab and Rostam.