There is an evil little practice called "hazing", which seems to be the joyous process of integrating new flesh into Ne9Ph8I7 less than hospitable groups consisting mostly of men. As a boy and young man, I sought for no membership in any organization at all, so I have little experience in such things, but I have read and studied enough to know that this becomes the human male's way to establish exclusivity, to define the elite groups and who can be a member of such. In essence, the initiation into most men's groups that desire exclusivity will invariably devolve to being able to endure any number of tests to which the "alphas" of the group excel. If it is a drinking club, it may be the amount of alcohol consumed. For the machismo group, it may be the number of women to be conquered in some fashion. For the medical profession, it is the ability to function with no sleep and still spout incomprehensible Latin. There must be some mechanism to include the right men and to banish the wrong ones; the leadership of each group must simply determine their particular criteria, typically those best contrived to keep leadership in power.
No society can stand for any time at all unless it takes advantage of the self-policing of group thuggery: one could never hire and pay enough police to demand compliance without roving gangs of thugs that are basically left to police themselves and frighten the masses. Why do you think schools are presided over by former sport coaches or women whose skin is made of iron plate? It is agreed that a principal will let student thug groups carry on in the school halls as long as their "enforcement" stays within some pretty broad constraints. This is why when I hear "anti-bullying" campaigns being established, I convulse on the floor with the laughter of the utter preposterousness of such an idea. Society breaks down under such unnatural "non-terror" conditions and every thinking person knows it.
One might surmise that in a society dominated by women, such as the Convocation, that the male "hazing" and thuggery would be suppressed, but such people would be disappointed. Wherever low-foreheaded men exist, so will these practices. The man who overcomes is the one that understands such nature and finds ways to put such into his service.
Enis finds himself in an unfamiliar environment. Tessreen has been spirited away by a local baroness and he hasn't seen her since. He has been "acquired by a sport-fighting household", clothed in strips of leather and little else and pushed into an arena with a shouting monster of a bemussled man who is meant to "teach" him his place.
I'm not going to go into any details at this juncture, except to say that Enis murdered the monster in the first few minutes of their encounter. The other "sport-fighters" who were watching to see the uninitiated Waykeep leader be easily bested now all ganged up on the newcomer and pinned him to the ground with sheer crushing mass. The hysterical Head Matron of the house, gawking wide-eyed at the twisted ruin of her best fighter and favorite lover, kicked at what she could find of Enis under the pile of scantily-clad men and screamed obscenities at the newcomer.
The Lady of the house, all of eighteen years of age but possessed of her courtly class, attracted by the unusual timber of the ruckus, entered the practice arena. "What is all of this?"
Everyone began to distance themselves from the pile-up and the Matron was first to compose herself enough to speak. "The man you brought to us has killed our best fighter!"
The Baroness of the Arena looked down at the dead man with a frown. "It appears that he isn't the best fighter anymore."
The older Matron sputtered out protestations of rules of combat and that sport-fighting was meant to be entertainment, not slaughter. She worked to unwind anger and tension, mixing deference to her titular superior with the girl's obvious ignorance of how the business of the Baroness' household was meant to work. "Dead men make no coin," the Matron summated.
Enis was back on his feet and looking ready to take on the dozen sport-fighters that posed in a ring around him, ready to strike. His chest heaved with some exertion, but not all that much. "I am accustomed to the slaughter of invaders. This man," he pointed at the corpse, "came at me as no friend, so I dispatched him as I am wont to do with challengers."
"I see that," the Baroness said simply. "The Matron is correct though. Our business is to put on a good show without killing." She came close to Enis and put a hand on his exposed pectoral muscle. "I knew you were the right sort to attract a crowd, but you need to learn the ways of the arena." The girl's eyes wandered around his body lustily.
It seemed that in one action, Enis had turned a household of potential bullies into a wide-eyed and conflicted bunch of school-boys glaring at their new superior. The Matron was none too happy with the new situation, as she lack sexual interest in the new man, but the Lady Baroness, inexperienced though she may appear, had set the order of the stallions in her stable for the moment.
"Get yourself cleaned up and come to my chambers this evening." Enis nodded and made is way to the shower house, leaving his lesser competitors to carry their vanquished compatriot away while the Matron heaved a sigh and wiped away a tear.