When word reached the vigilant King Bahram Gur that the Khaqan of China had encamped at Merv with an overwhelming host, he resolved to strike with swift and absolute secrecy. Stripping his army of all heavy baggage, Bahram ordered every warrior to take two fresh steeds, clad in mail armor beneath their tunics and crowned with Roman helmets. Riding day and night like a relentless tempest from the sacred fires of Adhar Ghashasp, they traveled off the beaten paths, navigating treacherous mountains and desolate wildernesses.
By day, Bahram posted eagle-eyed lookouts, and by night, watchful guards ensured no spy could betray their approach. The Iranian host swept like a mountain torrent past Ardabil, Amol, Gorgan, and Nisa, reaching the environs of Merv with speed that defied even the flight of a startled pheasant. There, scouts brought vital intelligence: the Khaqan, lulled into false security by ill-advised counselors, was merrily hunting in the lush grounds of Kashmihan, utterly unaware of the approaching doom.
Overjoyed by this fortune, Bahram granted his tired troops a single day of rest. As dawn broke, bathing the peaks in gold, the Iranian war horns blared and royal banners caught the morning light. The sound shattered the tranquility of Kashmihan, throwing the Chinese ranks into utter chaos. Before the Khaqan could even comprehend the assault, Iranian champions swept in and bound him in chains. Three hundred high nobles of China were captured and tethered to their saddles while the battlefield ran crimson.
Bahram then surged into Merv itself, obliterating the remaining enemy forces. Those who fled were pursued for thirty leagues by Bahram and the valiant Persian general Qaran. Returning to the hunting grounds, Bahram divided the vast spoils of war among his brave soldiers. Bowing his head in deep humility, the King of Kings attributed his miraculous triumph not to his own power, but to Yazdan—the Almighty Sovereign of the sun, the moon, and all destiny.