When nine moons had completed their turn since that night of passion, the daughter of the King of Samangan brought forth a child radiant as the shining moon. In stature and heroic grandeur, he seemed the very image of Rostam the elephant-bodied, or Sam the lion-hearted, or Nariman of ancient glory. As the infant smiled and his face bloomed with vitality, Tahmineh named him Sohrab. Wonder enveloped his growth: a single month rendered him like a youth of a full year, his chest broad and imposing like Rostam son of Zal. By his third year he gripped the polo mallet, by his fifth he mastered the bow and arrow, and by the time he reached ten years of age, no warrior in all the realm dared match strength against him.
The youth approached his mother and addressed her with bold resolve: 'Mother, reveal the truth unto me! I outshine all my peers, my head touches the sky, yet of what lineage am I born? What answer shall I give when men inquire of my father? If you keep this secret from me, I shall not suffer you to live upon this earth!' Tahmineh bade him be at peace and rejoice, then unveiled the glorious truth: 'Listen well and do not give way to anger. You are the son of Rostam, the elephant-bodied champion, descended from the line of Dastan, Sam, and Nariman. That is why your head reaches the heavens—for since the Almighty created the cosmos, no rider like Rostam has trod the earth, nor has any champion equaled Sam son of Nariman.'
Tahmineh then brought forth a secret letter together with three radiant rubies set within three golden beads, sent by Rostam from Iran. Yet she warned her son: 'Keep this strictly hidden from Afrasiab of Turan. For if your father learns of your matchless valor and renown, he will summon you to his side, leaving your mother's heart utterly shattered with grief.'
Sohrab's heart burned with righteous ambition. 'In this world, such noble lineage cannot remain shrouded!' he declared. 'All great champions recite the deeds of Rostam. I shall gather an immense army of brave Turkish fighters, overthrow Kay Kavus from his throne, banish Tus from Iran, and place the mace, throne, and crown upon my father Rostam! Then, turning my warhost from Iran to Turan, I shall depose Afrasiab and raise the tip of my lance beyond the sun! When Rostam is the father and I am the son, no other crown-wearer should exist on earth. When the sun and moon shine bright, why should a mere star wear the crown?' Thus, warriors from every corner rallied beneath his banner, drawn to his royal seed and unrivaled mastery of the blade.