As night shrouded the Turanian realm, the mighty Rostam entrusted the heavy baggage to the keen-witted Ashkash and set forth alongside seven renowned Iranian champions. Slackening their reins and unsheathing their vengeful blades, they launched a sudden, terrifying assault upon the court of Afrasiab in the dead of night, when the Turanians were steeped in slumber. The tranquil darkness shattered into chaos—flashing swords, rain of arrows, and the roar of battle echoing through the halls. Scores of Turanian nobles fell, their beards caked in dust and their blood staining the palace gates.
From the high portal, Rostam thundered in mockery: "Sleep sweetly, King of Turan! You rested upon your golden throne while Bijan languished in the dark depths of the pit—did you imagine a wall of iron would bar Rostam of Zabul? I have shattered your prison gates and freed the champion of Iran. For you, the blood-revenge of Siyavash and the gallop of Rakhsh across your plains shall bring ruin!"
Joined by his newly liberated champion, Bijan too shouted out in defiance: "O dark-minded Turk! Remember when you sat upon your throne and held me bound in chains at your feet? Look upon me now, unfettered upon the open plain, where even a raging lion would fear to cross my path!"
Terrified and helpless as his sleeping guards were cut down, Afrasiab tore his garments in despair. Though he ordered his remaining men to bar the advance, every Turanian warrior who stepped forward was swept away by the Iranian blades. Seeing the palace fallen, the Turanian king fled into the dark night to save his life.
With Afrasiab gone, Rostam entered the royal halls, dividing the rich silks, exquisite carpets, jewel-encrusted saddles, prized steeds, and precious weapons among his warriors. Laden with royal booty, the Iranian champions quickly galloped back to their main host to avoid an ambush. Though so exhausted that his very helmet felt heavy upon his aching head, Rostam immediately alerted his army: "Unsheathe your swords! Afrasiab will surely gather a boundless host to veil the sun with spears." The Iranian knights sharpened their weapons, preparing for the impending clash, while Rostam reminded Manijeh of the fickle nature of the transient world—where sorrow and triumph constantly alternate.