Arrows do not make him flee; sling stones become like chaff to him.
Out of his nostrils goeth smoke, As out of a seething pot or caldron.
Out of his nostrils goes forth smoke, as out of a seething pot over a fire of rushes.
Out of his nostrils a smoke goeth, As of a boiling pot and burning rushes.
Smoke pours from his nostrils like a boiling pot over reeds.
He will treat the hammer as if it were stubble, and he will ridicule those who brandish the spear.
As stubble will he esteem the hammer: and he will laugh him to scorn who shaketh the spear.
Do you cause him to leap like locust? His majestic snorting is terrifying!
He regards iron as straw, bronze as rotten wood.
A club is regarded as stubble; he laughs at the rattling 0f a lance.