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All splashed with bloody foam, the heroes stand.
Three stabs have weakened Purmar, and the blood
And gore well freely. Two swift blinding blows
Have lopped the flesh from Afrah; and still hot
And fierce the battle rages.

Three set times
Did Purmar come before the opposing hosts,
And challenge any hero to the fight;
But they, beholding his majestic mien,
His towering height, and mighty strength of limb,
And knowing well the prowess of his arm,
Returned no answer.

Till grim Afrah rose,
The dread of Rájput. Snake-like in his scales,
Writhing, the warrior came, and glowed and gleamed
With hate and envy. Both their blades leapt out
At the same moment, and both bickered bright
Over the heads of both the eager hosts,
Whose faces paled with passion where they stood.
Both the swart heroes fought in rings of fire
As the sun flamed upon their burning brands;
A moment more, and both their blades ran blood.
With his keen dagger Afrah stabbed the side,
And brought the Rájput hero to his knee;
Who, on his feet once more, hurled high his brand
And smote slim Afrah on the shoulder-blade.
Afrah, impatient, closed upon his foe,
Relying on his pliancy of limb,
And strength compacted in the smallest space,
Hurled high the Rájput warrior; every nerve
Beat as a pulse of fire; and every limb
Ran down with lightning as they tugged and swerved;
Both their huge shoulders burst in knotted wreaths,
Like rings of serpents writhing in the fight;
The earth shook under them as down they fell,
Afrah beneath, and Purmar on his foe;
And all the thirsty wildnerness of sand
Drank mighty draughts of blood. Blinded with gore,
Each seized another weapon. Afrah first
Aimed a fierce blow at Purmar's bleeding face,
Which, parrying, the Rájput hero swung
His terrible war-club, knotted like an oak,
And brought it down with all his giant force
On the tall front of Afrah. Down he dropt,
Like a huge monarch of the forest, struck
By thunder, 'mid his peers; and all the host
Of Rájput, that had stood in silent awe,
Broke, like a loosened torrent, into shouts
Of wild acclaim.

Meanwhile, Purmar, half blind,
Beheld a gleam of lances as he reeled
On to the camp of Rájput; and a swirl
Of giddy smoke floated 'twixt him and heaven;
And all the distant forests and blue hills
Span round and round in ruddy wheels of light;
And heads and faces of the army near
Danced as on rippling water; broken glints
Of far-off shining rivers, green of leaves
Sun-touched, and aching wastes of dreary sand,
With ghastly faces lighting up the mirk,
Whirled, in a roaring chaos round his head,
As on he staggered to his tumbling tent.