ruthless; when his brother’s severed head was laid before him he was unmoved (1). He slept little, endured long hardship, served his companions with his own hands and even stood the night watch. His clothing and his horse’s gear were not worth a single dinar. Yet he spent freely, took part in scholarly gatherings, and had accompanied Fakhr al-Dīn al-Rāzī before ascending the throne. Conceit, however, corrupted him: he trusted in his own safety and belittled his enemies. He used to say, “Muḥammad will give victory to the religion of Muḥammad.” He ordered the caliph’s name removed from the Friday sermon and declared his stance openly. He wanted to imitate Alexander, but how far is that sainted figure (2) from a Turkic ruler! Every king whose aim is not the establishment of truth is swift to perish.

He openly challenged the Khita, marched against them with a host of Tatars, and exterminated them save those who entered his service; afterward he turned upon the Tatars themselves.

Al-Muwaffaq relates further that the lands beyond the Oxus had been subject to the Khita, and the kings of Bukhara and Samarkand paid tribute to them. Those peoples formed a rampart between the Turks of China and us; this man breached that solid barrier, believing that none remained who could withstand him. He then moved on to Kerman, Iraq, and Azerbaijan, and set his sights on Syria and Egypt—an easy prey had destiny so decreed. The ruler of Aleppo spent his nights in anxiety over the reports of his ambitions in Syria.

It was said of him that he could remain on horseback for four days without dismounting, merely passing from one mount to another, covering whole countries, and riding up to a city with only a handful of men; by dawn ten thousand of his troops would be at his side, and by nightfall twenty thousand. At times he would storm a town with merely a hundred men and settle the matter on the spot. He killed several kings, conquering lands through terror and awe alone.

After the death of al-Ẓāhir Ghāzī, he came