thunderbolts, strike for them.

But how shall Abimelech and his army take this temple of Berith and
the men who are there fortified? Will they do it with sword? Nay.
Will they do it with spear? Nay. With battering-ram, rolled up by
hundred-armed strength, crashing against the walls? Nay. Abimelech
marches his men to a wood in Zalmon. With his ax he hews off a limb of
a tree, and puts that limb upon his own shoulder, and then he says to
his men, "You do the same." They are obedient to their commander.

Oh, what a strange army, with what strange equipment! They come to the
foot of the temple of Berith, and Abimelech takes his limb of a tree
and throws it down; and the first platoon of soldiers come up and they
throw down their branches; and the second platoon, and the third,
until all around about the temple of Berith there is a pile of
tree-branches. The Shechemites look out from the windows of the temple
upon what seems to them childish play on the part of their enemies.
But soon the flints are struck, and the spark begins to kindle the
brush, and the flame comes up all through the pile, and the red
elements leap to the casement, and the woodwork begins to blaze, and
one arm of flame is thrown up on the right side of the temple, and
another arm of flame is thrown up on the left side of the temple,
until they clasp their lurid palms under the wild night sky, and the
cry of "Fire!" within, and "Fire!" without announces the terror, and
the strangulation, and the doom of the Shechemites, and the complete
overthrow of the temple of the god Berith. Then there went up a shout,
long and loud, from the stout lungs and swarthy chests of Abimelech
and his men, as they stood amid the ashes and the dust, crying:
"Victory! Victory!"