Violating Pre-Colombian Building Codes

On our way down from this second pass, we came across the majestic Incan ruins at Sayaqmarka; it was as if the place had been concocted in an Indiana Jones cinematographer's imagination. We climbed to the top (via a short, but extremely steep ancient staircase) and took in breathtaking views. We were actually above the clouds; we marveled at the cloud-tops, with glacial peaks poking through every now and again. After chatting with my fellow trekkers, I wandered about the ruins, trying to decipher the purpose of each of the stone formations. Whenever you're among Inca ruins, you'll often come across seemingly random stones placed on the ground, but not so random as if to suggest that they'd simply fallen there. Instead, it appeared as if they'd been placed there intentionally. Within Sayaqmarka, I came across one particularly large stone that seemed as if it had been some sort of altar. With the benefit of my near-complete ignorance of ancient Incan culture, I imagined how the stone had come about:

Inca Bob and Inca Joe are toiling away, helping to build Sayaqmarka.

Inca Bob ("Bob"): Wow. Building this Sayaqmarka thing is entirely too difficult.

Inca Joe ("Joe"): I couldn't agree more. Here's an idea: how about we build these gigantic structures at the bottom of the mountains so we don't have to carry these stones up 3,000 meters of sheer mountain-face? Do you think the King's ever thought of that?

Bob: Well, first of all, I'm a pre-Colombian Inca, so I have no idea what a meter is, but, to answer your question, no; I don't suppose the King's ever considered that. He things big. Or, in this case, high.

Joe: What's this "pre-Colombian" you speak of?

Bob: How should I know? Do you think I'd be carrying stones around all day if I knew that sort of thing? All I heard was there's some guy who's planning to come to this part of the world one day. And he'll bring small pox.

Joe: Well, I don't know what these small pox are, but I'm not worried about something that's small. I mean, they've got "small" right in the name. And, thanks to our modern dietary standards, I'm practically a giant. I must be nearly 5 feet tall. So small is nothing for me.

Bob: Five feet? Yeah, I still don't know anything about these European units of measurement you keep using.

Joe: What's "European?"

Bob: This conversation is getting exhausting. Will you just stop talking do your Inca thing in peace?

Joe: Wait. Why did you leave that massive stone there? You can't just drop a stone in the middle of the room because you're tired.

Bob: Um, I didn't. That's where it's supposed to go. It's, um, an altar.

Joe: Really? Well, what's it for? Who ever heard of such a small altar in the middle of a room? What's it for?

Bob: Um, it's for sacrificing babies.

Joe: Babies? Since when do we sacrifice babies?

Bob: Oh, since yesterday. The gods thought it would be a good idea. Didn't you get the memo?

Joe: No. What's a memo?

Bob: I have no idea.

Joe: Fine. Never mind. So whose lady are we sacrificing?

Bob: Not lady! Baby! You know, those little things that scream and dirty up the diapers we haven't invented yet?

Joe: Oh yeah. Well, whose?

Bob: Well, not mine. That's for sure.

Joe: How do you know that?

Bob: ...gods told me so.

Joe: Who appointed you ambassador to the gods? How do you know all of this stuff?

Bob: I dunno. I suppose I just operate on a higher spiritual level than you or something like that. So do you think you can have your baby all cleaned up by tomorrow's sacrifice; we wouldn't want the gods to get dysentery or something.

Joe: How could that happen? Do they intend to eat him?

Bob: As far as you know, sure.

At least that's how I imagined it. It's a good thing I don't know much about pre-Colombia Inca history. I find that facts and knowledge make history far less interesting than my made-up versions of history.