* * * * * "The object of the game is to get those balls at the top of the cube to the bottom level. The Martian will try to get the ones at the bottom to the top. The balls are governed by the control panels. It's like three dimension Chinese checkers." "Sasush rhakol," a Martian said loudly. "The game has started. Push the top green button." Tharp thrust with a grimy finger. The game lasted several minutes. Each time it was their turn to move, Farrell told Tharp what button to push. Even while the game progressed, the husky man watched Farrell out of the corners of his eyes. Farrell realized that even with the distraction of the game, he'd have no chance to launch a surprise attack on his enemy. Finally the Martian gambler rose. His colorless lips spread in a wide grin of anticipation. "We lost!" Tharp exclaimed. Farrell agreed, "We lost. Anyway, all we lost was a little duchal." The Martians gathered around the two Earthmen; attached electrodes from the alien machine to Tharp's head. Three minutes later, Tharp still sat with the electrodes attached to his skull. The Martians were impatient. "What's the matter?" Tharp inquired angrily. "The game between the Martians, it only took the loser a few seconds to pay the duchal!" "That's right," Farrell agreed. "But look at the dial." Tharp stared at the motionless instrument. "Duchal is an expression of mental or physical agony," Farrell reminded him. "Concentrate and feel sorry you lost." He assumed a thoughtful expression. The indicator wavered slightly. "Not so good. See, there are ten graduations on the dial. The needle has to touch the tenth before you pay the amount of duchal you owe. So far, the needle hasn't passed the first graduation. In other words, you haven't paid a tenth of the duchal!" Tharp drew his revolver. The Martians did not like the sight of a gun in an Earthman's hand. They had no way of knowing that it was meant for Farrell and not themselves. A dozen aliens threw themselves on Tharp and quickly disarmed him. Ten Martians held an outraged Tharp motionless while an eleventh removed alien handcuffs from his tunic and placed pairs around his wrists and ankles. Farrell recovered his money. "Martians aren't thieves," he informed the angry man who struggled in vain at the metal bindings. "And therefore, they like to see everyone pay their debts. They'll keep you here until you pay the wager. You see, by being behind the control board and pushing the buttons, you're the one who has to pay the duchal although I told you what buttons to push." "A trick!" Tharp screamed. Tharp's face reddened. "You won't get far," he threatened. "I'll pay this duchal in a few minutes; they'll let me free and I'll--"