Hajír rushed seventh from among the heroes—
A famous warrior and noble horseman—
While Sipahram, Afrásiyáb's own kinsman,
A hero high in rank and estimation,
Essayed fight with the offspring of Gúdarz—
A cavalier unequalled in the host.
They went upon the ground, dark dust-clouds rose,
They fought together with their scimitars,
And made sparks stream from iron. Lion-like
The brave Hajír confronted Sipahram
Right manfully and, in the Maker's name,
And by the fortune of the youthful monarch,
Struck with his sword the helmet of his foe
Upon the crest, and death came then and there.
The Turkman tumbled headlong from his steed
In miserable plight and drenched with blood.

The fortunate Hajír, alighting, bound
His foe's corpse firmly on the saddle, mounted
His own steed, led the other and departed.
He clomb the hill, he blessed his lucky star
And glorious country, but acknowledged still
In his bright fortune and his might God's will.