|The hero Ninurta led the march through the rebel lands. He killed their messengers in the mountains, he crushed (?) their cities, he smote their cowherds over the head like fluttering butterflies, he tied together their hands with hirin grass, so that they dashed their heads against walls. The lights of the mountains did not gleam in the distance any longer. People gasped for breath (?); those people were ill, they hugged themselves, they cursed the Earth, they considered the day of the Asag's birth a day of disaster. The lord caused bilious poison to run over the rebel lands. As he went the gall followed, anger filled his heart, and he rose like a river in spate and engulfed all the enemies. In his heart he beamed at his lion-headed weapon, as it flew up like a bird, trampling the mountains for him. It raised itself on its wings to take away prisoner the disobedient, it spun around the horizon of heaven to find out what was happening. Someone from afar came to meet it, brought news for the tireless one, the one who never rests, whose wings bear the deluge, the Šar-ur. What did it gather there …… for Lord Ninurta? It reported the deliberations of the mountains, it explained their intentions to Lord Ninurta, it outlined (?) what people were saying about the Asag.