Two metres of polished bronze with a long spine of razor-sharp adamite projecting from the tip.
...
It was an old, old bull. A three hundred-meter monster. Its girth matched the widest rock stack. Its huge skull seemed the size of a battle-barge. It towered above then, cascading water from its ancient plates, opened its maw and exposed five metre-long fangs.
It sounded. The surface water was blitzed into drizzle. Both crews fell down in agony, holding their ears. The hardwood casting deck of Priad's skiff cracked.
The bull surged forward, forepart raised out of the water. Scyllon threw a lance that bounced off the plate, then snatched a fresh one from Xander.
He threw again.
It was a perfect cast.
The lance punctured between the third and fourth plates and lodged fast.
The old bull didn't even seem to feel it.
Priad dragged Khiron onto the casting deck and turned to pick up his lance. The vast wyrm was right on them.
Priad seized another lance and cast it hard.
It struck the bull's nose scales and quivered away.
'Draw me!' Priad yelled.
But Dyognes was leaning back to throw the next lance himself. Cursing, Priad stooped and pulled the last remaining lance free from the rack.
Dyognes cast. The lance went clean into the bull wyrm's right eye. It shuddered and writhed back.
Priad had the final lance in his hands. He pulled his arm back and threw.
It went right down the wyrm's gaping throat.

Brothers of the Snake pg. 199 and 203