Kimball Trent shrugged, lifted his guns free, handed them to the giant who took them with gingerly respect.
"Do not experiment with them," Trent advised.
Korm grinned wryly, laid them on the platform. "I want nothing to do with them," he said grimly.
Then the Elder and Kimball Trent were going through the open door, the others remaining behind. They followed a short lighted tunnel carved through living rock, turned aside into a single room.
"I make you welcome," the Elder said.
Kimball Trent gazed curiously about, seeing the crudeness of the furnishings; the room was furnished like that of an ascetic, not like the home of the leader of some group. It had a spartan simplicity in the plastic furniture, the bare walls white and unmarked.
Kimball Trent chose a chair at the side of a table, waited until the Elder had seated himself and pushed what appeared to be some sort of signal button.
A young man, brown-haired and athletic, came through the door, nodded in greeting, stared curiously at Trent. He walked slowly to the table, bent his head in tribute.
"Valur, this is Kimball Trent, a newcomer," the Elder said. "We shall listen to his story." He turned to Trent. "Valur is the Reader; it is he who knows the past and who is the keeper of the books."
"I make you welcome," Valur said quietly, eyes wise beyond his years calmly studying the well-knit body of Trent.