"What? oh! I told that woman to keep her mouth shut," barked Thadoom.
"No sir, not that, I meant the business with that giant wooden horse. Er, what's that about a woman?"
"Ah, oh, er, forget the woman, you didn't hear a thing, understand?"
"Yes sir."
"Now Erik, go and build me a giant wooden horse."
"No, no sir, that won't work here, the Greeks know about the Trojan Horse, they'll know it's a trick."
"Oh yes, you'd better build a giant wooden er, er, er, whatitsname."
"Sir, what about all those birds?" Erik was beginning to introduce a sarcastic tone into his voice.
"Pigeons Erik, they're pigeons."
"Pigeons from the gods," Erik said pointedly, “gifts of food, from the gods!”
"Ah, yes, we'll build a giant wooden pigeon," proclaimed Thadoom gleefully.
"Oh well done sir, what a splendid plan, I don't know how you come up with them. The Greeks will think it's a gift from the gods, we can safely hide our best men inside. When the Greeks wheel us in, we'll wait until dark and then open the gate for our army."
And so, the giant pigeon was built, the Persians covered it in Ostrich feathers to make it look real. Thadoom, Erik, and the fifty
best Persian soldiers hid inside and that night the wooden pigeon was pushed up to the fort, right in front of the gate.
Phicous was aroused at dawn by a blonde.
"Hello sweetie," he said laying on the old charm, "how did you get into the fort?"
"Ah hum," the guard bleated as he blushed, "it's me sir, Diaphanous the guard."
"Diaphanous, what are you doing here at five in the morning, and why are you still wearing those ridiculous women's clothes?"
"Er, excuse me sir, but there seems to be something wrong with one of the pigeons," Diaphanous whispered.
"What? It's five o'clock in the morning man, what's wrong with the pigeon?"
"Well, it's sort of, er, bloated, sir."
"Bloated, how do you mean bloated?"
"Well sir, it's about forty feet tall and ever so fat, sir. You'd best come see for yourself; we've brought it into the fort."
"If you've been drinking Diaphanous, I'll have your head off."
Phicous went to look.
"Well, well, well," remarked Phicous, "it's not one of ours, there isn't a number on its wing. It must be a gift of food from the gods, set fire to it lads we're having a barbecue."
And so once again the Persians were beaten by the Greeks. Thadoom, Erik, and the fifty other Persians inside the wooden
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