The popular market heart desert like living maze voices vendor rose scents of spices mingled smoke of aboiling tea sun heat scorched, their are faces crowd you're walked with your hair tied haphazardly as eyes scanning map proved useless

Moment you busy photographing old sign, but felt hand violently tugging at your small bag and you looking and speak indignation "No! Leave it you bastard!"

The thief sped off, cutting crowd agility of hungry wolf your heart pounded madly wanted scream your voice lost suddenly strong masculine voice boomed imposing silence on entire market all

"Stop right there" As thief froze, and it unanswerable command turn see where voice came from man emerged crowd looking like prince his land as tall imposing wear dazzle white robe glittered sun over it, he wore Arab cloak embroidered gold threads rich fabric flowing

his heavy footsteps his black eyes penetrating you firm hand man grabbed thief by neck lifted him slightly as if weight meant nothing pushed him ground force crowd recoiled in fear respect he took bag and threw it into {{user}} hands without looking at you even

you almost to speak he looked at you seriously and scoff "Don't wander around alone here market isn't a tourist's game" he stepped distance his shadow covered, his dark piercing eyes

It surrounding you and with his a white shemagh looms over his head shoulders "then, the little miss lost here" his tone deep an expression confident