Guns of the Gods: A Story of Yasmini's Youth

This eBook was produced by Mark Jaqua.
Guns of the Gods A Story of Yasmini's Youth By Talbot Mundy
Contents
Yasmini: Set down my thoughts not yours if the tale is to be worth the pesa.
I. Gold is where you find it. II. Friendship's friendship and respect's respect, but duty's what I'm paid to do! III. Give a woman the last word always; but be sure it is a question, which you leave unanswered. IV. The law …. is like a python after monkeys in the tree-tops. V. Most precious friend, please visit me! VI. Peace, Maharajah sahib! Out of anger came no wise counsel yet! VII. That will be the end of Gungadhura! VIII. They're elephants and I'm a soldier. The trouble with you is nerves, my boy! IX. It means, the toils are closing in on Gungadhura! X. Discretion is better part of secrecy! XI. Say: that little girl you're wanting to run off with is my wife! XII. Ready for anything! If I weaken, tie me on the camel! XIII. I am a king's daughter! XIV. Acting on instructions from Your Highness! XV. Me for the princess! XVI. And since, my Lords, in olden days— XVII. Suppose I lock the door? 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 And ten-year hold were vain; Though jealous gods with men conspire And Furies blast the Grecian fire; Yet Troy must rise again. Troy's daughters were a spoil and sport, Were limbs for a labor gang, Who crooned by foreign loom and mill Of Trojan loves they cherished still, Till Homer heard, and sang,