Tydore's eyebrows arched delicately. "So? You have read my books,
listened to my music. You have tasted the wines and eaten the fruits of
Mars. You have seen the stars and the sand, the waters and the lichens.
Have you not known my world?"
"I want more," Marley said flatly.
Tydore smiled. In that smile Marley saw a flash of more distilled
venom and ancient hatred that he could have imagined existed. The utter
virulence of it left him shaken and his illogical fear brought anger.
He got to his feet, the tiny goblet in his hand. It was old and
delicate, a tiny gem of carved jade and ivory. To one such as
Tydore--priceless. Brutally, Marley crushed it to shards in his hands
and dropped it to the flagstones. The fragments tinkled as they fell.
"So it must always be," said Tydore in a soft voice.
"I have not come here to listen to music, Tydore," Marley said, "Nor to
read your books or to know your world. You have one thing that I want.
You will give it to me, or I will take it from you." He ground his heel
onto the remains of the goblet with a grating sound.
"The weapon," the Martian said, "You want the weapon. You may have it.
You need not have broken my goblet...."
Marley was almost sorry that he had won so easily. He suddenly wanted
to crush the old Martian as he had crushed the goblet. In both there
was a quality that eluded him, and it was maddening.