The time arrived for the fourth duel of the Twelve Rokh, bringing forth Ferohal of Iran and Zangaleh of Turan—two fierce warriors who confronted each other like unleashed lions. In all the realm of Iran, no archer possessed a draw so swift or aim so deadly as Ferohal. Spying the grim Turanian champion from afar, Ferohal strung his bow without hesitation and pulled the notch back to his ear.
Drawing forth his heavy arrows of white poplar, Ferohal advanced holding his bow high and loosed a terrifying barrage upon Zangaleh, cutting off any chance of ambush or retreat. Amidst this storm of fletchings, one poplar arrow flew swift as the wind, piercing straight through Zangaleh's thigh and driving deep into the body of his steed. Overcome by agonizing pain, the swift horse collapsed onto its face, casting Zangaleh violently onto the earth.
The Turanian warrior gave up his ghost instantly, tumbling headlong into the dust as though he had never been born. Leaping down like a hunting beast, Ferohal severed Zangaleh's head and stripped off his fine Roman coat of mail. He bound the trophy to his saddle-strap, took hold of the slain enemy's horse, and mounted the crest of the hill like a blooded leopard.
With his chest, blade, and hands drenched in battle-gore, Ferohal raised the blessed banner of Iran high into the wind. Exultant in his complete victory, he let out a resounding shout across the valley, praying for everlasting triumph and royal glory for King Kay Khosrow.