Chapter 37 - The Birth of Cannon

The sun blazed high above Mandore as Harsha's chariot sped across the dusty plains, flanked by a dozen mounted warriors. The rhythmic pounding of hooves against the hardened earth sent tremors through the land, announcing the presence of the young Yuvraj. Ahead, the Luni River shimmered like liquid silver, its banks lined with the controlled chaos of industry.

Blast furnaces roared. Towers of smoke twisted into the sky as laborers toiled, feeding charcoal and iron ore into the fiery mouths of the kilns. The air was thick with the acrid scent of molten metal and the sharp tang of burning limestone. Sparks leaped like fireflies, dancing in the twilight of the forge.

Harsha dismounted, his boots crunching against the gravel-strewn path. Nearby, a group of blacksmiths hammered away at fresh ingots of steel, forging swords that glowed a bright, menacing orange before being plunged into cooling oil. The hiss of steam filled the air, followed by the satisfied murmurs of the workers.

At the heart of this inferno stood Balram, his face streaked with soot, his eyes alight with excitement. As he spotted the prince, he wiped his hands on his tunic and strode forward, bowing deeply.

"Long live Your Highness," Balram said, his voice edged with pride.

Harsha returned the greeting with a nod. "How fare the furnaces?"

Balram's smile widened as he gestured towards the roaring infernos. "Yuvraj, we have made a breakthrough. With the improved air bellows and carefully measured layers of charcoal and iron ore, our yield has increased by twenty percent."

Harsha's eyes sharpened. "Explain in detail."

Balram led him to the main furnace, where the bellows pumped a constant stream of air into the chamber, intensifying the flames. "Previously, the iron we produced contained too many impurities, making it brittle. By using refined limestone as flux, we can trap these impurities and remove them as slag. This means stronger, more durable steel."

Harsha examined the molten pool of metal at the furnace's base, its surface undulating like molten gold. "Better weapons, better armor… and better cannons," he mused.

Balram's ears perked up. "Cannons, Yuvraj?"

Harsha turned to him, his expression resolute. "Yes. The world is changing, Balram. The Arabs, the Byzantines, even the Chinese—all experiment with gunpowder and artillery. If we wish to remain powerful, we must not only forge steel but wield it in ways never seen before." This is my next task for you .

Balram's eyes widened. "Tell me more, Yuvraj."

The Birth of Cannons

The prince led him to a cleared section near the riverbank, where a group of artisans arranging, sketched designs on large paper and parchments weighted down with stones. The diagrams were unlike anything Balram had ever seen—hollow tubes reinforced with iron rings, mechanisms for controlled ignition, and notes detailing the varying strengths of cast iron and bronze.

"These are cannons," Harsha explained, pointing to the schematics. "Imagine a weapon that can shatter fortress walls from afar, that can decimate enemy formations before they even reach the battlefield. We will build two types—one from cast iron or wrought iron, for powerful land warfare, and another from bronze, for use on our future naval fleet."

Balram studied the drawings closely, running a calloused hand over the parchment. "How do you propose we make them, Yuvraj ? A weapon of this size will require extreme precision."

Harsha nodded. "That is the challenge. There are two main methods of casting cannons—hollow casting and solid casting."

Balram furrowed his brows. "Explain them to me, Yuvraj."

Harsha gestured to a separate set of scrolls. "In hollow casting, we create a mold in the shape of the cannon, then pour molten metal into it. A central clay core is placed inside to create the hollow bore. Once the metal cools and solidifies, the clay core is removed, leaving behind the cannon barrel."

Balram stroked his beard. "Simple, but the metal could have weak spots."

Harsha smiled, pleased with Balram's quick thinking. "Exactly. This method is faster but risks inconsistencies in the metal. A better, though more time-consuming method, is solid casting. Here, we cast a thick cylinder of metal, then use a strong iron drill to bore a hole through it, ensuring uniform strength."

Balram's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Then we must use solid casting, Yuvraj. Our cannons must not crack under pressure."

Harsha nodded. "We shall begin with cast iron, reinforced with bands of wrought iron for added strength. The bronze cannons, though more expensive, will be lighter and resistant to corrosion—perfect for use at sea."

The Refinements of Power

Balram's mind raced with ideas. "What about the firing mechanism, Yuvraj? How will the cannon be ignited?"

Harsha stepped to another section of the parchment, pointing at a small hole at the rear of the cannon. "This is the touch hole. We will load black powder and a cannonball from the front. A slow-burning fuse or a red-hot iron rod will ignite the black powder through the touch hole, creating an explosion that launches the cannonball."

Balram exhaled slowly, awed by the sheer ingenuity of the design. "And what of mobility? These cannons will be heavy."

Harsha's gaze turned toward the blacksmiths hammering steel plates in the distance. "We will create reinforced wagons with steel frames instead of wood. The wheels will be designed with iron rims to handle rough terrain. This will ensure our cannons can be transported swiftly to the battlefield."

Balram let out a low whistle. "This… this is revolutionary."

Harsha clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Then get to work, Balram. I will give you the time you need, but I expect results. The future of our empire depends on it."

Balram straightened, his face alight with determination. "You shall have your cannons, Yuvraj. Just grant me the flames, and I will forge our destiny." Right now ,Balram is very excited and is closely studying diagrams . 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the river and forges in hues of crimson and gold, Harsha left the workshop; he knew that history was being written in the fires of Mandore.

End of chapter .

To be continued …

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