The war-horns blared with a harrowing roar, and the vast army surged forward like an unchained ocean. From the relentless tramping of hooves, a dense pillar of dust mounted to the heavens, so deafening and obscure that even the keenest ears were stilled and the light of day vanished. Through that veil of swirling ash, diamond-tipped lances flashed like fiery bolts behind a azure curtain, crashing upon tempered helmets with devastating force.
For three unbearable days the carnage raged upon the parched earth, until human heads were trampled into the dust beneath the heavy hooves of warhorses. Agonizing thirst withered the hands of mighty champions and exhausted even the hardiest steeds. The lips of Rostam Farrokhzad turned as dry as dust; his eloquent tongue cracked within his mouth. Burning with heat and tears, both men and horses resorted to eating wet clay from the earth to sustain the last flickers of life.
Suddenly, a thunderous roar echoed across the plain. Rostam on one side and Sa'd on the other broke away from the centers of their hosts and rode toward a secluded fringe of the battlefield. Beneath the shadow of a solitary tall cypress, the two vengeful commanders closed in single combat. With a shout that resembled crashing thunder, Rostam struck a ferocious blow upon the head of Sa'd's warhorse. The beast collapsed headlong, throwing the warlike Sa'd to the dust.
Rostam drew his sharp blade to end his foe, intending to sever his head, but the blinding storm of dust veiled his vision completely. Dismounting from his leopard-skin saddle, Rostam tied the horse's reins to his belt to battle on foot. Taking advantage of the impenetrable dust, Sa'd crept stealthily around the fallen champion. He lunged and struck his sword squarely upon Rostam's helmet, causing blood to surge from his crown and stream over his eyes. Blinded by his own gore, the great Iranian general was overcome; Sa'd struck another terrible blow across Rostam's neck and chest, casting his heroic body lifeless into the dirt.
Neither army knew the outcome of the duel, for none could penetrate the murky veil. But when the Iranian warriors pushed forward to the front lines, they discovered their leader lying drenched in blood and dust, his body slashed by sword-cuts. A wave of despair swept through the ranks, and the Iranian host broke into disastrous retreat. Countless noble lords perished upon their saddles from thirst and wounds, their allotted days brought to a sorrowful end. Flying night and day, the remnants of the broken army made their way toward King Yazdegerd, who was then in Baghdad desperately trying to assemble fresh legions.