When the thunderous voice of King Goshtasp echoed from the height of the mountain, Prince Esfandiyar, the mighty hero of royal blood, lowered his head in grim resolve. Spear in hand, mounted upon a towering, swift dark charger that bounded like a demon unleashed from chains, he hurled himself into the heart of the enemy host. He fell upon the opposing ranks as a violent gale strikes rose petals, severing heads and trampling warriors; whoever caught sight of his terrifying countenance perished from sheer horror.
Meanwhile, young Bastur, the brave prince and son of the fallen commander Zarir, slipped away from the royal tents toward his father's stable-master. He demanded a fleet, well-rested warhorse, cast a golden saddle upon its back, fitted it with heavy armor, bound a coiled lasso to the saddlebow, and donned his own coat of mail. Spear in hand, he secretly rode forth into the swirling dust of battle to seek his father. Amid the chaos, he encountered a noble champion named Ardashir and inquired where the grand commander had fallen. Ardashir pointed toward the dark banner of the army, warning him that Zarir lay slain nearby.
As Bastur drew close and beheld his father's body upon the barren dust, the radiant world turned black before his eyes. Senses failing and heart shattered, he threw himself down from the saddle onto the ground. Embracing the lifeless body, he wept bitter tears, crying out to his shining moon and the light of his soul, questioning why he who had adorned the realm and led armies was now abandoned upon the cold earth without reaching his heart's desire.
Mounting his steed once more with wailing cries, Bastur galloped back to King Goshtasp. Beholding the youth's tear-streaked face, the King asked what tragedy had unfolded, and Bastur revealed that Zarir lay dead upon the dry soil, his musk-scented beard covered in dust. Upon hearing these words, the King's world collapsed into dark despair. Filled with blinding wrath, Goshtasp demanded his black warhorse and battle armor, swearing to unleash a wave of blood and ignite a fire of vengeance whose smoke would reach the heavens.
Yet the noble chieftains and the wise grand counselor intervened, insisting it was unbefitting for the King of Kings to risk his royal life on the battlefield when an entire army stood ready. The wise minister counseled the King to bestow the warhorse upon young Bastur instead, commissioning the fiery son to ride forth and avenge his noble father's blood.