After overcoming the previous trials, Esfandiyar commanded that the Turanian captive Gurgsar be brought before him. The prince filled three goblet-fulls of sparkling red wine and offered them to Gurgsar to soften his speech and lighten his spirit. Esfandiyar then addressed him, saying: 'Look upon the handiwork of the Creator! By Divine grace, neither Simorgh, nor lion, nor wolf, nor sharp-clawed dragon could withstand me. Tell me now, what peril awaits us at the next station? Is there water and pasture for the steeds?'
Gurgsar raised his voice and answered: 'O renowned and glorious Esfandiyar, if you turn back now, it would be no surprise, for even fortune has its limits. God has been your ally until now, and your royal tree has borne fruit. But tomorrow lies an ordeal no warrior can fathom. Neither mace, nor bow, nor blade shall serve you. A blizzard a spear's height deep shall fall for two days, engulfing you and your mighty host in impenetrable snow. And beyond that desert lies thirty farsangs of scorching sand—a boiling earth where no bird, ant, or locust can pass, nor vulture fly in the air. For forty farsangs you must drive through shifting sands where horses collapse and men lose heart.'
Continuing his ominous prophecy, Gurgsar revealed the final destination: 'From there the army shall reach Ruyin-Dezh, the Brazen Fortress—a formidable realm whose ramparts whisper secrets to the moon and whose roofs cut through the rain-clouds. Beyond its walls, no fodder can be found for beasts, and even if a hundred thousand armored champions from Iran and Turan besiege it for a hundred years, raining arrows upon its stone, it will remain as impenetrable as a iron ring on the door of fate.'
When the Iranian warriors heard these horrifying words from Gurgsar, anguish gripped their hearts. Surrounding their prince, they implored: 'O noble king, walk not into the circle of calamity! We came here to win glory, not to perish uselessly. You have traversed terrifying paths and conquered the beasts of the Seven Stages; render thanks to the Creator and return victorious to King Goshtasp, or seek another path into Turan. Do not hold your precious life cheap!'
Hearing their desperate plea, Esfandiyar's radiant countenance darkened with anger. He shouted in stern rebuke: 'Did you march from Iran to offer me counsel, or to win exalted fame? Where are the royal robes, golden belts, and thrones bestowed upon you? Where are your sacred oaths sworn before God that your feet now falter and your resolve shatters? Turn back, then, victorious and glad! As for me, I desire nothing save battle. At the word of this hostile demon, you shrink from war! I ask for no Iranian soldier on this campaign—my brother Peshotan and my son are companion enough. Almighty God is my champion, and with the strength of my own arm I shall conquer this fortress!'
When the Iranians looked upon the prince's fire-flashing eyes and thunderous rage, they fell to their knees in terror. Weeping and begging forgiveness, they cried: 'May our souls be sacrificed for the king! Our pledge stands eternal—as long as one warrior lives among us, none shall turn his face from battle. We feared only for the prince's life, not for our own resolve!' Moved by their total submission, Esfandiyar's wrath subsided; he praised their loyalty and swore that their sacrifices would be rewarded with endless treasure.