When the world-illuminating sun reared its head from Taurus and the lark's song echoed over the plain, war drums and brass trumpets sounded from both encampments of Iran and Turan. Jahan, son of Afrasiab, brought thirty thousand sword-wielding warriors onto the field. Seeing their vast lines, Kay Khosrow commanded Qaran of Kaveh's line to sweep down like an unyielding mountain from the center upon Jahan. To the right, Gostahm son of Nowzar charged like a whirlwind bearing the banner of battle. The heavens turned violet with the dust of horsemen, and the earth swelled with roaring champions.
A clash erupted so fierce that veteran warriors had never witnessed its equal. So many Turanians were cut down that the plains and gorges turned into a sea of blood. When dark night descended and the moon rested on the mountain's edge, Qaran stood victorious and brave Jahan was cast into disarray. The Iranians spent that entire night not in sleep or feast, but in sharpening weapons and arming for the coming dawn.
At the first light of dawn, Kay Khosrow, the righteous monarch of Iran, stepped away from behind the battle lines into solitude with a loyal attendant. Dismounting his steed, he pressed his face into the dark earth and wept before the Almighty: 'O Pure and Just Judge! Thou knowest the bitter days I have suffered under the tyranny of Afrasiab and the unavenged blood of my father. Thou art the guide to the oppressed—requite the evil-doer in his own blood!' Filled with divine radiance and vengeful resolve, he placed his blessed crown upon his head and returned roaring to the heart of the host.
Once more the roar of cow-horn trumpets and war-drums filled the air. Afrasiab and Jahan arrayed a fortress of war elephants with archer howdahs to bar the Iranian advance. Arrows rained down like hail from the elephant towers. Kay Khosrow dispatched his valiant commanders—Aveh, Samkanan, and Shammakh-e Suri—to reinforce the flanks, while Rostam, Zavareh, Goudarz, Zarasb, and Manushan held the wings beside the royal standard.
The battle reached a fever pitch where the ground became stiffened with blood under the horses' hooves. Amidst the carnage, the Shah of Ila (Astaqila) charged directly at Kay Khosrow, striking the king's waist with a heavy spear, but the royal armor held firm. Drawing his sharp blade, Kay Khosrow sliced the King of Ila completely in two. Seeing his monarch halved by a single stroke, Borz Ila fled in terror under the growing darkness, and the Turanian lines collapsed in panic. Afrasiab, beholding this ignominious defeat, chose night retreat over total destruction, fleeing toward the sands of Amuy while shouting desperate boasts of renewing the battle at sunrise.