King Ardashir assembled an immeasurable army from the ancient realm of Istakhr, intent upon crushing the rebellions of the mountain Kurds and seeking divine reward by purging the land of bandits. Yet as Ardashir entered the narrow mountainous passes, the Kurd chieftains united in vast numbers to meet him, outnumbering his warriors thirty to one. A ferocious conflict erupted, raging continuously from dawn until the fall of night. The blazing sun and swirling dust parched the throats of the fighters, and beneath the relentless pressure, the Persian forces gave way and fled. The battlefield turned narrow, choked with the fallen and wounded, leaving Ardashir with only a meager remnant of his retinue.
As night unfurled its dark standard over the blood-soaked earth, Ardashir spotted a distant flame flickering high upon the mountain slopes. Guiding his tired horse toward the light, he encountered humble shepherds guarding their flocks of sheep and goats. Thirsty and covered in the dust of defeat, the King dismounted and asked for water. The shepherds hastily brought him bowls of cool water mixed with yogurt. Refreshing himself with their simple fare, Ardashir wrapped his sturdy battle armor around himself as a blanket, laid his royal helmet under his head as a pillow, and collapsed into deep slumber.
When dawn rose above the cosmic waters, the chief shepherd approached the sleeping monarch, marveling that such noble warriors were resting in these rugged highlands. Ardashir inquired after the path to a settled realm, and the old shepherd provided seasoned guides to lead him four leagues down into a valley where continuous villages were governed by prominent lords. Upon reaching the populated lands, the local chieftain hastened to serve Ardashir. The King immediately dispatched couriers across Fars to Khurreh-ye Ardashir, summoning his scattered forces. Hearing that their sovereign had survived, the troops rallied with joyful hearts.
Ardashir secretly dispatched intelligence agents to observe the Kurds. The spies returned reporting that the enemy was celebrating their victory in overconfident folly, convinced that Ardashir was trapped in Istakhr, aged and forsaken by fortune. Rejoicing at their arrogance, Ardashir put his past defeat behind him. From the newly gathered host, he handpicked thirty thousand formidable, sword-wielding cavalry and a thousand master archers, preparing to strike a devastating counter-blow against the unsuspecting mountain rebel forces.