Following their glorious victories, the Iranian host under the command of Rostam moved onward until they reached the vicinity of a well-fortified and prosperous citadel known as the Fortress of Bidad. Yet this city was shrouded in horror, for its cruel ruler, Kafur, maintained a monstrous custom: every day he fed upon the flesh of young children and raised fair maidens solely for his horrific banquets. Appalled by such darkness, Rostam dispatched Gustaham and Bizhan with three thousand armored cavalrymen to lay siege to this cursed stronghold.
Kafur emerged clad in mail, leading a fierce force of wild warriors who fought like hungry leopards. A brutal clash ensued, arrows falling like hail and striking down many valiant Iranians. Realizing the gravity of the assault, Gustaham urged Bizhan to ride like the wind to Rostam and ask for immediate aid. Rostam galloped into the arena like a roaring black tempest. Seeing his fallen comrades, he bellowed at Kafur, declaring that his reign of terror was at an end. Kafur lashed out with a blade, but Rostam caught the blow upon his shield and brought his legendary mace smashing down upon Kafur’s helmet, instantly shattering his skull.
The fortress defenders retreated behind their heavy gates and shouted down from the high battlements. They warned Rostam that the fort had been founded by Tur, son of Fereydun, using sorcery, stone, brick, wood, and reed, and that no catapult or spell could ever breach its walls. Unmoved, Rostam commanded a four-sided siege: Goudarz and Tous flanked the stronghold with war elephants and brass trumpets, while the warriors of Zabul and Kabul pressed forward with drawn blades. Rostam’s archers shot down anyone who dared show their face on the ramparts. Then Rostam ordered his men to undermine the foundation of the fortress walls, propping them up with wooden beams drenched in black naphtha. When fire was set to the timbers, a massive section of the walls collapsed with a thunderous roar.
The Iranian host swarmed into the breach. Though the defenders fought desperately for their homes and children, they were swiftly overwhelmed, slain, or taken captive. Vast spoils of silver, gold, fine steeds, and servants were assembled. Rostam cleansed himself of the blood of battle and prostrated himself before Yazdan, offering heartfelt prayers of thanksgiving to the Creator of the World. He then ordered Gev with ten thousand horsemen to sweep the borders of Khotan to prevent the Turanians from regrouping. Gev returned three days later with rich booty and captives, dividing the spoils between King Kay Khosrow and the victorious army.
Meanwhile, news of Bidad’s fall and Kafur's destruction reached Afrasiab. The King of Turan fell into deep melancholy, haunted by memories of Rostam’s supernatural might—how the champion had once snatched him out of his saddle like a child. His commanders sought to reassure him, claiming Rostam was but one man of flesh and iron, urging their king not to lose heart. Afrasiab dispatched a crafty spy named Farghar to scout the Iranian camp. Farghar slipped near and beheld Rostam’s grand green pavilion, his formidable armor of tiger-skin, his legendary steed Rakhsh, and the terrifying array of Iranian chieftains. He returned to Afrasiab trembling, reporting the peerless dread that Rostam inspired.
Desperate, Afrasiab resolved to summon Puladvand, a titanic warrior of demonic strength from the reaches of Suqlab and China. Afrasiab drafted a letter promising half his kingdom, crown, and treasury if Puladvand could slay the Zabul champion. His son Shideh carried the letter to Puladvand, who gathered a monstrous horde and marched down from the mountains to Afrasiab's court. Afrasiab embraced Puladvand and recounted all his grievances and the deaths of Kamus, Shangal, the Khaqan of China, and Siyavash's blood.
Puladvand acknowledged Rostam’s terrifying deeds in Mazandaran—how he tore open the White Demon and slew Bid and Arzhang—and advised against a hasty single-handed assault. He proposed that the Turanian army swarm Rostam en masse to wear him down, allowing Puladvand to strike at the opportune moment. Yet as the wine flowed at the evening banquet, a drunken Puladvand began to boast loudly, swearing before the Turanian court that he would hack the hero of Zabul to pieces with his sharp sword.