Beyond the threshold of Gang-Dezh, King Afrasiab knew neither rest by day nor slumber by night. He gathered his wisest counselors and grandees, declaring that with the Iranian host now at their bedchambers, lingering in Gang was impossible. The lords of Turan answered with unified resolve: battle was their sole path, for submission was unworthy of so vast an empire. All through the night, armor was fitted and weapons sharpened. At the first cockcrow, war drums thundered from the royal gates, spilling a force onto the plain so immense that even the paths of ants and flies were choked. For three days and nights the lines surged forward until the battlefront stretched seven leagues wide.
On the fourth day, the hosts clashed in divine fury. Afrasiab positioned himself at the center of the Turanian heartland alongside his bravest chieftains, while his son Jahan commanded the right wing. Opposing them, King Kay Khosrow stood firm as a mountain at the helm of Iran, flanked by legendary commanders—Goudarz, Tus, Manushan, Gurgin, Rohham, Hajir, Shidush, Fariburz, Manuchehr, and Giv guarding the rear. The earth hardened like iron beneath pounding hooves, and rivers turned ruby-red with blood. Dust rose like black thunderclouds as battle-axes shattered granite shields. Dismembered limbs covered the plain until even the wisest warlords despaired, realizing that another hour of such slaughter would leave no warrior alive in all the world.
Seeing the bitter stalemate, Kay Khosrow rode to the edge of the field, dismounted, and pressed his face into the dust, weeping in desperate prayer to Yazdan: 'O Sovereign Creator! If I am not the aggressor, deny victory to tyranny and grant triumph to justice!' In that instant, divine favor answered his cry. A howling gale swept across the plain, snapping tree branches and hurling blinding clouds of sand into the eyes of the Turanian army. Though Afrasiab strove to hold his lines by decapitating fleeing soldiers with his own blade, darkness enveloped the land, forcing both kings to withdraw. Kay Khosrow spent the night bathing the fallen Iranian heroes, shrouding them in silk, and erecting magnificent tombs.
Under cover of night, Gustaham executed a devastating ambush on the Turanian high command, wiping out their officers save for Qarakhan, who fled. At dawn, Rostam arrived like a mountain of iron, notched his bow, and severely wounded Qarakhan while devastating the Turanian rear. Realizing his vanguard was obliterated and Rostam was marching through Turan, Afrasiab launched a frantic midnight retreat, abandoning his camp and fleeing toward the mythic stronghold of Gang-Dezh—the Paradise of Gang. Kay Khosrow dispatched swift couriers to warn Rostam and pursued the tyrant.
Safe within Gang-Dezh—an impregnable ancient metropolis eight leagues long and four wide, renowned for its crystal fountains, towering palaces, and thornless gardens built by ancient sages—Afrasiab prepared for a siege. He mounted catapults, ballistas, and crossbows along the battlements, commissioned Roman engineers under the direction of the Jatheliq, fitted steel-clawed pikes to pull down scaling ladders, and showered his troops with gold and weapons. Simultaneously, he sent an urgent embassy bearing praise and gifts to the Faghfhur of China, requesting massive army reinforcements. Having fortified his fortress, Afrasiab drowned his terror in grand banquets within his golden halls, surrounded by harpers and beauty, drinking deep to erase the haunting shadow of Kay Khosrow.