The arrow cannot make him flee; slingstones are turned into stubble by him.
He scorns the multitude in the city and does not regard the shouts of the driver.
He counts iron as straw, and brass as rotten wood.
Arrows are counted as straw; he laughs at the shaking of a spear.
They scoff at kings, and they scorn rulers. They deride every stronghold, for they build up siege ramps to capture it.
The Lord of Hosts will protect them. They will devour up and subdue them with stone slingers. And they will drink and make noise as with wine; they will be filled with blood as a bowl, saturated like the corners of the altar.