"Duchal," Farrell explained quickly, "means an expression of sorrow or pain. By means of that machine, the winner was able to receive in his brain the sensation of the loser's physical and mental agony at losing the game." "That's what they were betting?" Tharp asked unbelievingly. "Yes. It's the same principle as humans who play games merely for the disappointed expression on the loser's face. The Martians do it a little differently: they have a machine that transmits the loser's pain into the victor's brain. The Martians are constructed in such a way that the agony of another person, implanted in their minds, is very pleasant to them." "They must be crazy!" Farrell shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe. Anyway, you have a choice. You can bet the thousand dollars or a certain amount of duchal." "If we bet duchal and lost, we'd only have to pay the Martians a little ... sensation of agony at losing the game?" "Right." Tharp laughed. "Hell, let's bet duchal. That'd be better than losing a thousand bucks if we should lose the game." He slipped his hand into a pocket and the cloth bulged in Farrell's direction. "And we'd better win!" _What's the difference?_ Farrell thought. _If we win or lose, you'll kill me. You can't leave me alive to report you to the police!_ "You can play the game," Farrell suggested. "I'll tell you what buttons to push." "Okay. Tell the Martians we want to bet an amount of duchal worth five thousand. How much would that be on the dial on that gimmick?" Farrell pointed at the graduation to the extreme right of the dial. "See that line? That would be worth five thousand in duchal. The same amount the Martian bet." Tharp smiled as he remembered how easily the Martian gambler had paid that amount of duchal. If they lost the game, he'd have no trouble paying the gambling debt. "Five thousand," Farrell told the waiting Martian. "We'll bet duchal." The Martian smiled happily, disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a large bag. Without ceremony he spilled the contents on the stone floor. Tharp gasped when he saw the golden earrings, cups, anklets, rings and bracelets studded with diamonds. They were easily worth more than eight thousand dollars. "Why the hell are they living in dumps like this when they have that kind of stuff? They could buy--" He hesitated as if the incompleted sentence indicated an infinite list of articles. "It means nothing to them," Farrell explained. "They have a different monetary system. Most Martians are so poor, even the rich ones can't buy anything more valuable than food, clothes and shelter. And the Martians are too stubborn to trade with Earthmen." He reflected idly that on all of Mars the only place where the two races associated was in gambling rooms like this. Even there, the Martians' attitude was stiff and business-like. The group of aliens shuffled about uneasily, impatient for the game to begin. "You ready to start?" Farrell asked. "Sure."