After that disastrous clash where Rostam the Matchless turned the very daylight into pitiless shadow before his eyes, Afrasiab fled in bitter humiliation, spurring his steed until he reached the fortress-city of Khallakh. The pride of Turan was humbled, and the king hid his face in shame from the exalted line of Kianian monarchs. Entering his inner palace with a heart tormented by grief and fury, he gathered his most trusted council of war: the wise Piran, the devious Garsivaz, along with Qarakhan, Garsiwan, and his own battle-eager son, Shideh.
Afrasiab opened his speech with bitter reflection, recalling times of ancient supremacy: 'Ever since the days of King Manuchehr, never had the hand of Iran reached so insolently into the heart of Turan. Crowned kings bowed before my footstool, and none dared turn their reins against my command. Yet now, the once-cowardly Iranians have grown outrageously bold! They launch night-raids to the very threshold of my hall! The deer has crept to the pillow of the sleeping lion. If we do not instantly arm for vengeance, they will reduce our realm to ashes!'
The assembled chieftains and wise councilors echoed his rage. They counseled that the Turanian hosts must cross the sacred Oxus—the Jayhun—and pitch a vast war camp at Amuy, staging a relentless invasion to crush the fierce Iranian champions like Rostam and Giv. Pleased by their stern resolve, Afrasiab bade his scribes draft urgent scrolls to Faghmur, the Emperor of China, and to the Sovereign of Khotan, summoning boundless legions of battle-ready warriors.
Within two weeks, armies flooded in from every kingdom. So vast was the gathered host that the churning earth seemed to burst like a boiling sea, and the rising dust blotched the midday sun into dark eclipse. Afrasiab unlocked the royal vaults—ancient hoards kept secret from father to son since the era of Prince Tur himself. Gold and dinars flowed without stint until every warrior was richly equipped.
Selecting fifty thousand elite battle-proven cavalry, Afrasiab committed them to his heroic son Shideh, ordering him to march post-haste to secure the strategic marches of Khwarazm. Then, assigning another fifty thousand formidable warriors of China to Piran, he ordered the old commander to strike directly into the heartland of Iran, giving him strict command never to utter a word of peace: 'He who tries to mingle fire and water does violence to both! Speak only of sword and vengeance.' Thus, equipped with golden helmets, heavy maces, and venom-dipped blades, the aged Piran and the youthful Shideh rode forth like thunderous storm-clouds, setting the stage for an unprecedented conflict.