26 No sword that reaches him does prevail, neither spear, dart, or lance.
27 He reckons iron as straw, bronze as rotten wood.
28 The arrow does not make him flee, sling-stones become like stubble to him.
29 Clubs are reckoned as straw, he laughs at the rattle of a lance.
30 His undersides are like sharp potsherds. He sprawls on the mud like a threshing-sledge.
31 He makes the deep boil like a pot, he makes the sea like a pot of ointment.
32 He leaves a shining path behind him. One would think the deep to be grey-haired.