few minutes later, the door opened.

"Come in," a bony, wizened Martian invited.

Tharp remained a few paces behind Farrell as they entered the room.

The stench of the place made their stomachs churn sickly.

A group of listless Martians sat in the center of the floor and watched a large cube-shaped object. Two Martians on opposite sides of the cube sat before small control panels.

The Earthmen watched as one Martian touched a button on his control panel. A green ball inside the cube rose a few inches.

The other Martian pushed a button and a brown ball at the top of the hollow cube dropped a few inches.

A thin Martian with grey hair and watery eyes asked, "You vish gamble?"

Farrell nodded his head affirmatively.

The Martian smiled weakly and inquired in broken English, "Vhot is vager? Monee or duchal?"

"What in hell is duchal?" Tharp asked.

"It's hard to explain," Farrell confessed. "But, we'll have to wait until those Marties are through and you'll see what duchal is when they finish."

Farrell squatted on the cold floor.

Tharp sat two yards to one side.

Silently they watched the Martian gamblers.

Several minutes later the emaciated aliens rose from their positions behind the small control boards.

"Is the game over?" Tharp asked.

"Yes. See the Martian with the green tunic? He's the one who lost the game. The winner will receive a certain measure of duchal from him."

They watched intently as a strange machine was brought into the room. The two gamblers sat close to each other. A third Martian attached electrodes to their heads, then flipped a lever on the ancient, rusty machine.

The Martian who 

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