Job 41:29

If one attacks him with the sword, it can’t prevail;

nor the spear, the dart, nor the pointed shaft.

He counts iron as straw,

and bronze as rotten wood.

The arrow can’t make him flee.

Sling stones are like chaff to him.

His undersides are like sharp potsherds,

leaving a trail in the mud like a threshing sledge.

He makes the deep to boil like a pot.

He makes the sea like a pot of ointment.

He makes a path shine after him.

One would think the deep had white hair.