The troops on their return informed Pírán
Of that youth's deeds, and much talk passed thereon.
Pírán inquired: “Who is this man? What name
Hath he among the noble?”

One replied:—

“Bahrám the lion-queller, the host's lustre.”
Pírán said to Rúín: “Arise. Bahrám
Can not escape. If thou canst take him living
The age will rest from strife. Take troops enough,
For he is famed and valiant.”

Hearing this

Rúín went off on hostile thoughts intent.
Bahrám perceived him quick as dust and showered
Shafts on him, sitting on a mound the while,
A Lion bold with shield before his head.
Rúín son of Pírán was arrow-pierced,
The others lost all keenness for the fight.
They came disheartened to the paladin,
Full of concern and dudgeon, saying thus:—
“None ever fought so, and we have not seen
In any stream so fierce a crocodile.”
Pírán was sore distraught at this account,
And trembled like the leaf upon the tree;
Then mounting on his fiery steed went forth,
Accompanied by many warriors,
And coming to Bahrám said: “Famous chief!
Why is it that thou combatest afoot?
When thou wast in Túrán with Siyáwush*

Thou usedst to be prudent, shrewd, reserved:
We should eat bread and salt together, we
Should sit together and become fast friends.
With such high lineage and native worth,
Such lion-manhood and exceeding prowess,
Thy head must not be levelled with the dust,
And kin and country sorrow for thy sake.
Come let us make a covenant by oath
On such wise as shall satisfy thy heart;
Then will I make affinity with thee
And, having made it, will advance thee more.
Thou canst not fight against these famous troops
On foot! Be not a traitor to thyself.”
Bahrám said: “Paladin wise, shrewd, and ardent,
My lips have tasted nothing for three days,
And day and night have I been combating;

But yet I must resume the fight forthwith
Unless thou wilt provide me with a steed
To bear me back to the Íránians,
Back to the old Gúdarz son of Kishwád.”
Pírán said: “Know'st thou not, O atheling!
That I can countenance no such design?
What I suggested is the better course:
Thou art a brave man; act not recklessly.
Consider that the horsemen of our host
Hold it no small dishonour to themselves
That many of the scions of the great—
Men who wore diadems, well skilled in war—
Were killed or wounded by thee in the fight,
And smirched with dust. Who will approach Írán
Now but with tingling in his blood and brain?
If there were no fear of Afrásiyáb,
And that his heart would be enraged at me,
I would, O youth! provide thee with a steed
To bear thee homeward to the paladin.”
He spake thus, turned about, and went his way,
Love in his heart but prudence in his head,
While from the host Tazháv—a man whose might
Surpassed an elephant's—came forth to meet him,
And asked him what had passed. Pírán replied:—
“There is no warrior equal to Bahrám.
I gave him out of kindness much good counsel,
Showed him his course, and proffered goodly league;
Mine offers found no access to his heart;
He fain would go back to the Íránian host.”
Tazháv replied: “Love will not win his soul;
Now I will go and if I capture him
Afoot will put him 'neath the stones forthwith.”
He hurried to the field impetuously,
Where brave Bahrám was all alone in arms,
And, when he saw Bahrám with spear in hand,
Cried loudly like a furious elephant,
And said to him: “Thou wilt not get away
In this fight from these famous warriors.
Dost thou expect to go back to Írán?
Dost thou expect to lift thy head on high?
Thou hast cut off our princes' heads. Abide,
For now thine own time draweth to a head.”
He bade his mates: “Lay on and give it him
With arrow, double-headed dart, and dagger.”
The troops closed in a body on Bahrám,
All who were chief among the valiant men,
While he the hero having strung his bow
Dimmed with his shafts the brightness of the sky.
When arrows failed he took his spear in hand,
Till plain and hill were like a sea of gore,
And when the spear was cloven he still shed blood
With mace and sword like raindrops from a cloud.
The fight continued on this wise: Bahrám
Was wounded by the shafts of his brave foes,
And, when the hero's strength and vigour failed,
Tazháv came up and struck him from behind
A sword-cut on the shoulder. Brave Bahrám
Fell from the hillock on his face; the hand
That used to wield the sword was smitten off;
He ceased from combating and all was over.
E'en fell Tazháv grew hot of heart for him,
And, as in shame and grief he turned his reins,
He felt the warm blood tingling in his veins.