XVIII. "Be discreet, Blaine .... please be discreet!"
XIX. "I am as simple as the sunlight!"
XX. "Millions! Think of it! Lakhs and crores!"
XXI. "The guns of the gods!"
XXII. "Making one hundred exactly!"
XXIII. Three amber moons in a purple sky.
XXIV. A hundred guarded it.
XXV. And that is the whole story.




Guns of the Gods



Out of the Ashes

Old Troy reaped rue in the womb of years
For stolen Helen's sake;
Till tenfold retribution rears
Its wreck on embers slaked with tears
That mended no heart-ache.
The wail of the women sold as slaves
Lest Troy breed sons again
Dreed o'er a desert of nameless graves,
The heaps and the hills that are Trojan graves
Deep-runneled by the rain.

But Troy lives on. Though Helen's rape