Under the cloak of pitch-black night, Tus, together with Gev, Gudarz, and a contingent of noble Iranian commanders, hefted their heavy maces and struck at the heart of the Turanian encampment. They charged directly toward the pavilion of Piran Viseh, the Turanian commander-in-chief, igniting a devastating conflagration within the enemy ranks. The battlefield turned into a sea of blood, and piercing cries of agony echoed across the dark plains. The standard of Piran was split in two by the weight of Iranian blows, striking terror into the hearts of the Turanian warriors.
When Houman heard the tumult and panic of his host, he leapt upon his swift black stallion and rode swiftly into the fray. He beheld slaughtered warriors blanketing the earth and countless fallen fainting from their wounds. Blood mixed with tears rained down upon his armor, and he roared furiously at his host: 'Was there no watchman upon the perimeter? Is there no vengeance left in your hearts? For every one of these Iranians, we have three hundred horsemen, yet you turn the battlefield into a bed of sleep! Draw your swords and maces, raise your Chinese shields above your heads, and block their escape! Now that the crescent moon draws its blade of light across the sky, let not a single Iranian leave this field alive!'
The war-horns blared, and the Turanian horsemen surged forward, encircling the Iranian champions like a ring of iron. Sparks flew so violently from colliding blades and helmets that it seemed as if maces were raining from the storm clouds. The sky was black as pitch and the earth dark as ebony, hiding moon and stars behind towering clouds of dust. Houman commanded his men to take the Iranian nobles alive, but the Turanian army cried back that against such ferocious lions, mercy was death; only heavy spears and maces could bring down their crests.
Trapped in the suffocating crush, Tus turned to Gev and Rohham, saying: 'Without doubt, our lives hang in peril. Unless the Almighty Lord of the heavens saves us, we are as prey in the claws of an eagle or drowners in the depths of the sea.' Then the three heroes bound their hearts together and charged as one, like enraged lions. The darkness was so impenetrable that none could see the mane of his own steed; only the glint of spear-tips thrusting through the gloom met their eyes.
In their dire hour, the Iranian chiefs invoked the name of Rostam the Elephant-bodied, who had ever turned the tide of desperate battles, and longed for the presence of Shidoush, Bizhan, Gostaham, and Gorazeh. Meanwhile, the thunder of drums and the clash of maces reached the main Iranian camp. Shidoush, Gostaham, Bizhan, and Gorazeh realized their commander was surrounded in the dark. Without hesitation, they mounted their chargers and plunged into the sea of foes like sea-monsters rising from the deep. Reinforced, the Iranians fought fiercely through the night until the sky split open with the crimson light of dawn.
As the sun illuminated the world, the exhausted armies disengaged and withdrew toward the mountain passes. Tus gathered his battered champions and praised their extraordinary valor: 'Never have I seen such fortitude in battle as you displayed this night. Now we must send a swift messenger to King Kay Khosrow, detailing all that has transpired, so that he may dispatch Rostam and the lion-hearted warriors of Zabulistan to our side.' A swift courier was at once dispatched to the royal court, while both armies rested in their tents, leaving outposts on the plain as Houman surveyed the fallen with grim resolve, preparing for the terrible trials yet to come.