More than 30 years after the last time I read Karl May, fond memories of his North African/Middle Eastern stories made me pick up this book, which I hadn't read before.

It was pleasant enough, exotic, colourful, and obviously somewhat dated. More than once, I found it tiresomely repetitive: The main character making friends through his superior European skills; his stalking his foes and listening in on their conversations; an annoying comic relief sidekick who keeps foiling his master's perfect plans through his incompetence, again and again. Still, pleasant enough; I'm going to read the two follow-up books at some time. ( )