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.