As the first dawn light pierced the retreat of night, Rostam—miraculously healed of all wounds—clasped on his armor and invoked the name of the Creator. Mounted upon a fully restored Rakhsh, he rode toward the prince's encampment and called out with a voice like thunder: 'Awake from thy pleasant slumber, Esfandiyar, for Rostam has returned to the field!' Hearing the roar, Esfandiyar stood stunned; the glory of his arms felt suddenly diminished. Turning to Peshotan, he whispered in dismay: 'Never did I imagine Rostam could again don his tiger-skin cuirass or mount Rakhsh, whose hide yesterday was bristling with my arrows. Surely this is the black art of Zal, who reaches his hand to the sun and outmatches all sorcerers!' Peshotan wept and cautioned the prince against further wrath, yet Esfandiyar strapped on his coat of mail and rode out to confront the champion.
Upon sighting Rostam, Esfandiyar roared in fury, cursing Rostam's lineage and attributing his recovery solely to Zal's dark witchcraft, vowing to break the titan so thoroughly that Zal would never see him alive again. Rostam, maintaining serene majesty, answered: 'O Prince, fear the Almighty Yazdan and do not darken the eyes of wisdom! I have not come today to wage war, but to seek peace and preserve honor. By the sacred sun, the moon, and the Holy Avesta, I wish thee no harm. I shall fling open the ancient treasuries of Zabulistan—yielding loads of kingly gems, golden armlets, sweet-lipped servants, fair maidens of Khallakh, and the accumulated fortunes of Sam and Zal. I shall heap them upon my steeds for thy treasurer, and then walk meekly before thy stirrup unto King Goshtasp, submitting to whatever he decrees, whether death or mercy. Only do not bind my limbs in chains, for that would dishonor my name forever.' Yet Esfandiyar coldly dismissed the grand entreaty as mere deception, stubbornly proclaiming that nothing under heaven except iron shackles on Rostam's hands could satisfy the absolute command of the Sovereign.