At the break of dawn, a heavy weariness settled upon the heart of Rostam, the World-Champion. Seeking to dispel his dark mood, he filled his quiver with arrows, buckled his royal belt, and mounted his divine steed Rakhsh, directing his course toward the wild hunting grounds along the marches of Turan. Upon reaching the borderlands, he beheld a vast expanse teeming with herds of wild asses. The crown-bestowing champion's face glowed like a blooming rose; with a confident smile, he gave Rakhsh the rein and surged forward like a hunting lion, striking down game with arrow, bow, mace, and lariat.
Gathering a mountain of dry brushwood and fallen branches, Rostam lit a roaring bonfire that lit up the desert plain. He uprooted a sturdy tree trunk to fashion a spit, easily impaling a huge male wild ass—which felt as light as a bird's feather in his colossal grip—and roasted it whole over the open flames. When the feast was ready, he tore the roasted meat apart, devoured it, and extracted even the marrow from the bones. Sated and weary, the elephant-bodied hero surrendered to deep sleep upon the meadow grass, leaving Rakhsh to graze freely along the bank of a shimmering stream.
Meanwhile, a roving band of Turanian horsemen rode across the plain and caught sight of the magnificent, rose-dappled charger. Entranced by his unmatched stature, they circled the stream and rushed forward with woven lariats to capture him. Though Rakhsh fought fiercely, the riders succeeded in roping the noble steed and led him away toward their city, each horseman eager to claim a prize in the famous warhorse.
When Rostam awoke from his sweet slumber and sought his faithful charger, he found the pasture empty. He scanned the horizon in every direction, but Rakhsh was nowhere to be seen. A crushing grief and bitter embarrassment seized the hero's soul. He agonized over how the champions of Iran would mock him—that Tahamtan had slept like a corpse while thieves stole his horse out from under him. Bound by grim resolve, Rostam shouldered his heavy weapons and armor, marching on foot with a wounded spirit toward the royal realm of Samangan, following the hoofprints of his beloved steed.