When the shattered Turanian army returned from the field of battle, covered in dust and soaked in blood, news reached King Afrasiab that his watchful fortune had fallen into a dark slumber. Surkheh, his beloved son, had been slain, his head severed and hung inverted to avenge the innocent blood of Siyavash. Filled with anguish, Afrasiab cast down his crown, tore his hair, and rent his royal garments, weeping aloud for his son’s moon-like face and royal stature. He swore that sleep and food would be forbidden to him until blood rained upon the battlefield. He summoned his commanders, commanding them to replace their beds with coats of mail and steel armor. The brass war-horns blared, the elephant-drums thundered, and the sky seemed to kiss the earth as the mighty hosts mobilized.
Afrasiab stationed Barman on his right wing, Kahram the swordsman on his left, and took his own place at the center of the Turanian army. On the Iranian side, Rostam arrayed his forces with masterly skill: Tus and Giv held the right wing, Goudarz and Hojir held the left, while Rostam himself stood at the heart of the army, armed with his Kabuli blade and devastating mace. The collision of the two armies was immense—the sky turned black with dust, spears gleamed like the hide of a leopard, and the trampling hooves ground the earth to powder.
From the core of the Turanian ranks stepped Pilsam, the valiant brother of Piran. Filled with pride, he begged Afrasiab for a battle-steed and heavy armor so he might challenge Rostam directly. Piran warned the king against such folly, declaring that sending a youth against the Elephant-Bodied Rostam was akin to stepping willingly into the jaws of a dragon. But Pilsam scoffed at caution, boasting of his past victories over Iranian champions. Granted his wish by Afrasiab, Pilsam rode out and challenged the Iranian champion. Giv charged him first, but Pilsam struck him with a spear so fierce that Giv's feet were lifted from his stirrups. Faramarz rushed to his comrade's aid, severing Pilsam's spear with a blow of his sword. Pilsam fought both heroes like an enraged lion.
Seeing his warriors pressed, Rostam recognized that the hour of destiny had arrived for Pilsam, as foretold by the astrologers. Hefting a heavy iron spear, Rostam spurred Rakhsh forward like a lightning bolt. Approaching Pilsam, Rostam drove his spear into the warrior's girdle, lifted him effortlessly from his saddle like a polo ball, and hurled his lifeless body straight into the heart of the Turanian ranks, calling out mockingly to wrap him in yellow silk. Deep sorrow pierced Piran's heart, and the Turanian spirit crumbled.
A bloody general battle erupted. Afrasiab himself charged the Iranian front, slaying many and driving Tus back. Tus appealed to Rostam for aid. Rostam, accompanied by Faramarz, cut through the enemy ranks until Afrasiab spotted his purple banner. The Turanian monarch lunged at Rostam, striking him in the waist with a spear, but the point shattered against Rostam's impenetrable armor, the Babr-e Bayan. Rostam retaliated by striking Afrasiab's mount; the steed collapsed, casting the monarch to the dirt. Rostam reached down to seize the king by his belt, but Houman struck Rostam's shoulder from behind with a heavy iron mace. As Rostam turned in wrath, Afrasiab scrambled onto a swift replacement horse and fled the field. The Turanian lines broke into total rout, pursued for three leagues by the enraged Iranian champion, leaving behind a battlefield laden with armor, weapons, and rich spoils.