As dawn breached the mountain crests, the vanguard of the Iranian host reached the plains of Dehestan. Two leagues separated the arrayed forces of Iran and Turan, and the thunder of war drums resounded across the expanse. Barman, an ambitious Turanian champion eager to demonstrate his valor, rode out to rouse the sleeping warriors to battle. Spying upon the royal pavilion of King Nowzar, he returned to Afrasiab with news of the Iranian vanguard's disposition, arrogantly begging leave to charge into battle like a roaring lion and claim immortal fame.
Yet Aghriras, the wise and prudent brother of Afrasiab, interceded with grave counsel. He warned that putting forward a warrior of Barman's standing was perilous: should he fall, the spirit of the Turanian chieftains would break, casting despair over the whole army. He urged sending an obscure fighter instead. But Aghriras's wisdom provoked only fury in Afrasiab; the prince of Turan frowned darkly, taking shame at such caution, and commanded Barman to don his mail, string his bow, and ride forth to glory.
Barman rode into the neutral zone and taunted Qaran son of Kaveh, challenging any warrior in King Nowzar's ranks to meet him in single combat. Qaran scanned his mighty army, but a heavy silence fell upon the Iranian chieftains. None stepped forward save Qobad, Qaran’s aged brother. Grieved and enraged, Qaran wept at the thought of sending an old man into battle while young warriors stood by. He pleaded with Qobad to refrain, warning that his fall would shatter the army's morale. Yet Qobad responded with sublime, fatalistic grandeur: mortal flesh is destined for death, and whether one perishes in bed or beneath the clash of steel, none escapes fate. He requested only that Qaran prepare a royal tomb for him, washing his remains with camphor, musk, and rosewater.
Grasping his spear, Qobad spurred his dark steed onto the field. Barman mocked the old chieftain's advanced age, but Qobad stoically replied that the cosmos had granted him a long life, and he welcomed his appointed hour. The two warriors clashed from morning until the shadows lengthened, neither giving quarter. At last, Barman hurled a fatal javelin at Qobad’s loins, unbuckling his belt and throwing the noble elder headlong from his horse onto the dust, dead. Barman returned triumphant to Afrasiab and was bestowed a robe of honor beyond compare.
The sight of his fallen brother ignited an unquenchable wrath in Qaran. Mobilizing the entire Iranian host like a churning sea, he launched a crushing offensive against Turan. Diamond-bladed swords flashed red with blood, and clouds of dust turned the sky into a dark mist. Qaran charged through the Turanian ranks like the sacred fire Azargashasp. Seeing Qaran’s bloody rampage, Afrasiab himself rode forth, and the commanders clashed furiously until darkness covered the mountain peaks. Under cover of night, Qaran withdrew his forces to Dehestan and entered Nowzar's tent in mourning. Nowzar wept bitterly for Qobad, comparing his loss to that of Sam. Yet Qaran vowed to fight on, swore to avenge both Iraj and Qobad, and promised to break the power of Turan despite the sorcery and darkness that had shrouded the battlefield.