8

Sacred Landscapes and Imperial Ideologies:

The Wari Empire in Sondondo, Peru
Katharina Schreiber
University of California at Santa Barbara

ABSTRACT
Expanding empires not only establish political and economic bases of control as they consolidate their occupation
of new territories, but they also create or modify ideological bases of power in each region. Evidence from the
Sondondo Valley suggests that the Wari Empire manipulated local belief systems in order to express its power and
legitimate its domination. Wari imperial ideology was expressed through an iconography of power and an imposing
style of architecture. Local belief systems can be reconstructed through the use of modern and historic observations
combined with archaeological remains, and I identify one and possibly two major shrines that were in use during
the Middle Horizon. Among the sites established by the Wari in the Sondondo Valley was Leqles Pata, located
in proximity to local shrines in such a way as to exert control over their access and experiential nature. It is not
unlikely that Wari strategies of ideological control were tailored to each region, much as were their economic and
political reforms. The use of local belief systems as a form of resistance cannot be seen clearly in the case of the Wari
occupation, but I cite the Taki Onqoy movement as an example of 16th-century resistance by the people of Sondondo
against the Spanish. I conclude that Wari used ideological power as an important component of its imperial project.
Keywords: Wari Empire, sacred landscapes, ideology, Sondondo Valley, huacas/shrines

Empires mess with people’s minds. and categories of meanings imposed on the physical world,
—Susan E. Alcock (2002:36) norms of appropriate behavior, and ritual practices; ideolog-
ical power results from the ability to manipulate, control, or

P ower derives from a multitude of sources, and in the

complex interactions between dominant and subjugated
cultural groups, multiple forms of power come to the fore.
Political power is seen in the establishment of new forms
of political hierarchy and control over new territories. Eco-
nomic power is manifest in the economic reorganization
of a region and the extraction of tribute. In this chapter I
should like to consider the role of ideology in the negoti-
ation of power relations between conquerors and their sub-
jects. While my specific case study involves the Wari Empire
of Middle Horizon Peru (A.D. 750–1000), I shall also draw
on other Andean examples temporally and culturally distinct
from the Wari.
I conceive of ideology as a series of mental constructs
that provide meaning and significance to aspects of the ma-
terial world, as well as to human actions and interactions.
Following Mann (1986:22–23), ideology includes concepts
change these meanings, behaviors, or practices. Following
DeMarrais et al. (1996:15), ideology is a source of social
power, which involves the capacity to manage or control the
activities of others. The materialization of ideology may in-
clude both physical and/or experiential phenomena, such as
shared forms of ritual or feasting events, iconographic sym-
bolism, objects with particular social meanings, and public
monuments. It may also include the bestowing of meaning
upon and sometimes physical alteration of places on the land-
scape thus providing order and domesticating natural space
(DeMarrais et al. 1996:16–19). The landscape is continu-
ally encultured, to use Tilley’s (1994:67) terms, transforming
physical reality into meaningful, socialized forms.
Ideology is a crucial component of the imposition of
imperial power. Initially, ideological beliefs may be a pre-
text for conquest (Lumbreras 1974:165; Sinopoli 1994:167–
168), but they may play an especially crucial role in

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C 2005 by the American An-

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132
reinforcing imperial power during conquest and after control
has been established. For newly conquered, recently assim-
ilated groups who may have conflicting agendas amongst
themselves, ideology can be a source of unity and stability
(Carneiro 1992:193–194).
Perhaps more crucial for our purposes here, as we con-
sider the foundations and relations of power in the Andes, is
the notion that ideology serves as a basis of power for both
indigenous groups and the polities that come to dominate
them: “Materialization of ideology is . . . a strategic process
in which leaders allocate resources to strengthen and legit-
imate institutions of control” (DeMarrais et al. 1996:16). It
therefore stands to reason that altering the material nature of
extant symbols of indigenous ideology may be a most effica-
cious strategy employed by an intrusive, dominant political
order in order to shift that legitimation to themselves. Ideol-
ogy may also serve to justify imperial occupation (Conrad
1992; Demarest 1992) by attempting to conceal exploitation
or otherwise misrepresenting elite objectives (Joyce 1997;
Kolata 1992; Patterson 1986) and thus masking the asym-
metry of state institutions and hierarchies (Shanks and Tilley
1982). In time, once relations of social dominance have been
established, ideology can be used to sustain those relations
(Tilley 1984), to centralize and consolidate political power
(DeMarrais et al. 1996), and to resolve tension and conflict
(Anders 1989; Liverani 1979). Given the prominent role that
ideology plays in the negotiation of social power, it is a cru-
cial focus of study in the examination of imperial expansion.
In the Andes our clearest example of an imperialist state
is the Inca Empire (A.D. 1476–1532), and our archaeologi-
cal knowledge and understanding of this culture is greatly
enhanced by a large body of textual evidence consisting of
Spanish historic documents. Many Colonial Period docu-
ments, written as they were by parties not uninterested in the
Spanish conquest of the Incas, are concerned with details
of Inca political and economic organization. Others concern
themselves with Inca and other indigenous Andean religious
practices and form part of Spanish efforts to eradicate these
practices.
Archaeological treatments of the Inca expansion, espe-
cially Inca occupations of particular provinces, have tended
to focus on political and economic manipulation of the cul-
tural landscape. Dorothy Menzel, in her seminal study of
the Inca occupation of a series of valleys on the south coast
of Peru, followed two lines of evidence: changes in local
material culture, especially ceramic styles, reflecting Inca
influence, and changes in political control of each region.
Basing the latter part of her study on the presence or absence
of large local centers and/or intrusive Inca centers or other
features in each region, she concluded that the Incas made
use of local centralization where it existed but had to build
Katharina Schreiber
their own political centers in regions lacking a centralized
political structure (Menzel 1959). Craig Morris, in his stud-
ies of the Inca center at Huánuco Pampa, in northern Peru,
and its environs, likewise concluded that the Incas adapted
their political strategies to the particular circumstances they
encountered in each region (Morris 1972, 1998). More re-
cently Terence D’Altroy has undertaken a careful analysis of
the Inca occupation of the Yanamarca Valley in central Peru,
teasing out aspects of Inca political and economic power
(D’Altroy 1992). He and Christine Hastorf, along with sev-
eral colleagues, have devoted productive efforts to under-
standing domestic economies under Inca domination in this
region (D’Altroy and Hastorf 2001). Complementing this
emphasis on political and economic power, during the past
decade or so an increasing number of researchers have be-
gun to include considerations of the role of ideology in the
Inca expansion (Conrad 1992; Morris 1998) and in the case
of other cultures (e.g., Kolata 1992).
In this chapter I will attempt to address the articula-
tion between imperial ideologies and local belief systems,
as well as the negotiation of social power, in the case of one
particular occupation within the sphere of the Wari Empire.
The Wari Empire
In the second half of the first millennium A.D. the city of
Huari emerged in the central highlands of what we today call
Peru.1 Bigger than anything before seen in the central Andes,
this urban site indicated a qualitative change in the cultural
history of the Andes and its rise marked an abrupt transition
to a new form of political dominance: an Andean empire
(Schreiber 2001). Wari control spread north in the highlands
to what is today Cajamarca and south nearly to the Titicaca
Basin; there were also Wari occupations at various locations
along the central and south coasts of Peru, including Nasca
(Schreiber 1999) (Figure 8.1).
The distribution of Wari-style architecture, roads, and
artifacts of the Wari style in Peru, combined with those of the
Tiwanaku culture of Bolivia, form the basis of the definition
of the time period termed the Middle Horizon. John Rowe
(1962) based his “master sequence” of Andean chronology
on events taking place in the Ica Valley of the south coast
of Peru. In his terms the Middle Horizon technically begins
when Wari “influence” reached the Ica Valley and ends sev-
eral centuries after the collapse of Wari, when new cultural
innovations appeared in Ica. Based on a handful of early ra-
diocarbon dates, the Middle Horizon was tentatively fixed
between about A.D. 550 and 1000, with the period of Wari
expansion falling between A.D. 600 and 800 (see Menzel
1977). As our inventory of radiocarbon dates has increased
The Wari Empire in Sondondo, Peru 133

Figure 8.1. Map of Peru showing locations of Huari and Wari sites mentioned in the text.
134
and advances in the technology have permitted these dates
to be calibrated to greater accuracy, it is now apparent that
the Wari expansion occurred at a slightly later date, closer to
A.D. 750, and that it lasted perhaps until about A.D. 1000 (see
Schreiber 1992; Williams 2001). Following Rowe’s defini-
tion sensu stricto, the initial appearance of Wari influence in
Ica in about A.D. 750 provides our best current estimate of
an absolute date for the beginning of the Middle Horizon.
Because they shared certain distinctive elements of their
iconography, the Wari and Tiwanaku cultures were confused
for the first half of the 20th century, with Wari seen as a
coastal component of a Tiwanaku expansion (Uhle 1903).
Extensive research since the late 1940s has clarified the dis-
tinction between these two cultures, and Wari, with its capital
at Huari, is now seen as an expansive state in its own right
(see Lumbreras 1974:151–152; Schreiber 1992:72–79).
Wari research can be conveniently divided into three
general areas: material culture, the capital, and provincial
sites or occupations. Menzel’s (1964, 1968) detailed work
on Wari ceramics provided the definition of several differ-
ent styles, a relative chronology for the Middle Horizon, and
the basis for later studies of iconography (Cook 1983, 1987,
1992, 1994, 1996; Isbell and Cook 1987; Knobloch 2000).
Distinctive forms of Wari architecture have also received
comparative study (Cook 2001; Schreiber 1978; Spickard
1983). Results of excavations at Huari, from the 1930s to
the present, have been only sporadically published (e.g.,
Isbell et al. 1991; González Carré et al. 1996). Due in part
to terrorist activity in the 1980s and 1990s, this site has not
yet received the level of intensive research that it deserves.
Investigations outside the Wari core have been aimed pri-
marily at specific Wari sites in provincial regions, includ-
ing Honco Pampa in the north (Isbell 1991), Azángaro near
Huari (Anders 1986), Jincamocco in the south (Schreiber
1992), Pikillaqta near Cuzco (McEwan 1987), and Cerro
Baúl in the far south (Moseley et al. 1991; Williams and Isla
2002), among others. Several of these sites have been re-
gionally contextualized with the addition of archaeological
surveys designed to clarify their roles within local regions
(e.g., McEwan 1987; Schreiber 1987, 1992; Williams 2001).
Paralleling some of the research cited above in the Inca
case, much of my own work on Wari has been devoted to un-
derstanding aspects of political and economic manipulation
in the provinces. On the basis of my excavations of the Wari
site of Jincamocco in 1976–77 and a regional survey under-
taken in the Sondondo Valley in 1981,2 I concluded that the
Wari occupation was one of relatively direct control, involv-
ing heavy investment in an imperial infrastructure including
a major administrative center, several satellite centers, and a
road. Local settlements were relocated to lower elevations,
and the valley was extensively terraced, leading me to ar-
Katharina Schreiber
gue that maize production was greatly increased under Wari
control (Schreiber 1992).
A Consideration of Ideology
A noticeable lacuna in my own work to date is a lack
of explicit attention paid to ideological power and its role in
Wari provincial occupations, such as that of the Sondondo
Valley. Wari specialists do not have the added resource of
written documents to flesh out reconstructions of Middle
Horizon societies, which are necessarily based on purely
archaeological data. This chapter is an attempt to partially
address the bias toward the study of political and economic
power and to bring to the fore a consideration of ideology
and ideological power in the colonial situation. I shall con-
sider archaeological manifestations of imperial ideologies
in the case of the Wari Empire in general and evidence of
local belief systems in the Sondondo Valley of south-central
Peru. Along the way I shall also provide illustrative examples
from other Andean situations, especially where the Wari data
are weak or inadequate. My purpose is as much to suggest
fruitful lines of inquiry as it is to offer evidence in specific
Andean cases.
This discussion takes its inspiration from a series of
questions posed by Carla Sinopoli in her 2001 article
“Empires” (Sinopoli 2001:458–459). In the case of empires,
she notes that ideology may be used to justify and legitimize
imposed or altered political structures and reformulation of
social relations. She asks,
How are preexisting belief systems of various incor-
porated areas affected by imperial imposition: Are
they incorporated into imperial ideologies, suppressed,
or do they become media for resistance to empire?
How are imperial ideologies expressed materially . . . :
in monuments . . . iconography, prestige goods or ritual
practices? How are these beliefs and their material cor-
relates expressed at the imperial center and in various
subject territories? Are regional practices, practitioners,
or deities brought to the imperial center . . . ? Are dis-
tinctively imperial sacred monuments and iconography
imposed upon or adopted in incorporated territories?
[Sinopoli 2001:459].
I would rephrase these questions as follows: (1) How are
imperial ideologies expressed materially at the imperial
center and/or within the culture of the dominant society?
(2) How are local belief systems expressed materially and
how can we identify them? (3) How are imperial ideolo-
gies materially expressed in conquered territories? (4) How
are local belief systems affected by imperial conquest? (5)
How do imperial ideological strategies change in conquered
The Wari Empire in Sondondo, Peru
territories? (6) How can local belief systems be used as a
form of resistance to imperial control?
I advise the reader at the outset that it is not my intent to
explore every permutation of and possible answer to these
questions; rather I shall strive to proceed along lines of evi-
dence that seem most fruitful in my specific case study. My
response to the first question lies in citing the work of others
and will therefore be brief. Much of the focus of this chapter
lies in attempting to address the next three questions. The
fifth question probably cannot be satisfactorily answered us-
ing data from the Wari occupation of Sondondo or of any
other region within the Wari sphere, but I do think we can
anticipate a general answer to it. Finally, there is a very in-
teresting example to be taken from the Sondondo Valley,
although from a later time period, that partially addresses
the final question.
How Are Imperial Ideologies Expressed Materially at the
Imperial Center and/or Within the Culture of the
Dominant Society?
Sinopoli (2001) suggests a wide range of evidence in-
cluding portraiture and inscriptions, ritual space and archi-
tecture, prestige goods, and iconography that might inform
us on this topic. DeMarrais et al. identify materialized forms
of state ideology, including Moche burial practices, sym-
bolic objects, and monumental architecture (DeMarrais et al.
1996:24–27), plus Inca feasting, symbolic objects, and ar-
chitecture of power (DeMarrais et al. 1996:27–30).
In the case of Wari we can identify a clear iconography
of power (Cook 1994), expressed in a figure usually called
the staff deity. The staff deity is typically depicted in a full-
bodied frontal view; he wears an elaborate headdress and
tunic, his arms extend out to either side, and he holds a long
vertical staff in each hand. Secondary beings are often de-
picted as well, viewed in profile and combining human traits
(head, body, arms, legs) with avian traits (wings, beaks).
Although the best-known example is seen at the so-called
Gateway of the Sun at Tiwanaku, the staff deity has great
antiquity in the Andes extending back at least as early as
the Chavı́n culture of the Early Horizon (800–200 B.C.). The
use of this symbol by a dominant society evoked memories
of times past and would have left no doubt in the mind of
any Andean native that it represented social and/or political
power. Wari iconography is depicted on media such as ce-
ramics and textiles, prestige goods that could be transported
around the empire.
While Wari portraiture is not yet well defined, if indeed
it existed, Anita Cook (1992, 1996) has been able to identify
canons of royal dress and hierarchy in Wari imagery. Ritual
135
space and architecture have also been identified at Huari,
especially in the form of D-shaped temples (Cook 2001;
González Carré et al. 1996). The Templo Mayor at Huari has
an interesting history that indicates a progression from open
access to restricted use. Initially (and perhaps long before
the founding of the city of Huari), a large U-shaped mound
was built in this place. The D-shaped temple was built within
the wings of the U, thus reorienting and restricting the focus
of activity. At some later date the open side of the U was
walled off, thus limiting access to the temple; finally a large
compound wall with a single entrance was erected around
the temple complex, restricting access even more.
Also within Huari’s ritual precinct are found complexes
of underground galleries, whose function remains unclear,
and a series of stone slab structures that may represent funer-
ary structures of high-ranking individuals (Cook 2001:162).
Isbell has recently argued that many architectural forms here
and at Conchopata, a nearby Wari site, are tombs that con-
form to a variety of types (Isbell 2004).
An interesting and notable aspect of Wari feasting, or rit-
ual drinking, has been brought to light by Patricia Knobloch
(2000). She has identified many depictions of the hallu-
cinogenic plant Anadenanthera colubrina in both Wari and
Tiwanaku iconography. It is seen on ritually smashed vessels
on which are depicted Wari elites, perhaps shamans, in elab-
orate dress. Unlike at Tiwanaku, where the plant was ground
into powder and snuffed, she suggests that in Wari culture
A. colubrina was added to chicha (corn beer) to enhance its
effect in Wari rituals.
Much of the architecture at Huari may be said to be an
architecture of power and intimidation (see DeMarrais et al.
1996:29 for a discussion of Inca architecture of power). Im-
mense, imposing rectangular compounds, up to three stories
tall and with few entrances, were designed to keep people
at a distance rather than to welcome them in. This is an in-
teresting contrast with Tiwanaku, where state iconography
is displayed in open, accessible areas; no open public areas
have been identified at Huari.
How Are Local Belief Systems Expressed Materially and
How Can We Identify Them?
As in the case of imperial ideologies, we can look to
monuments, ritual spaces, architecture, iconography, and so
on to seek evidence of local belief systems; in the present
case I propose to look to places that might form components
of a local sacred landscape. Here I find it useful to follow
Tuan and make a distinction between space and place. Space
is abstract physical space, defined by location and configura-
tion, while places have meaning, based on experience (direct
136
or indirect) and/or knowledge (intimate or conceptual) (Tuan
1977). While it is unlikely that we shall ever know precisely
what meanings were ascribed to particular places by people
of the distant past, we can attempt to identify places that
were meaningful, based on characteristics that differentiate
them from other sites or locations in a region, as I discuss in
more detail below.
At this juncture I should like to consider evidence of
indigenous sacred landscapes in the Sondondo Valley, pro-
ceeding from the recent to the distant past. My purpose in
considering sacred landscapes in the Sondondo Valley is not
to project contemporary or historic landscapes onto the past
but rather to open our eyes to the richness and vibrancy
of the native landscape and to consider that even in times
perhaps beyond our grasp the landscape was replete with
special places and meanings. I begin with the contemporary
use of the landscape and places revered as special or sacred.
I then consider the 16th century, for which Spanish docu-
ments present a wealth of data on huacas—sacred places or
things—in this region. Finally I turn to archaeological data
informed by recent theoretical approaches to landscapes and
monuments to identify possible prehispanic huacas. I should
note that huaca is a term used at present, but it was also used
in the past. Cobo, writing in 1653, defines a huaca as “not
Figure 8.2. Map of the Sondondo Valley and environs showing modern towns and sacred
peaks.
Katharina Schreiber
only any god or idol, but also all places of worship, such as
temples, graves, and any other place that was venerated and
where sacrifices were made” (Cobo 1990:10).
Contemporary ritual life in the Sondondo Valley in-
volves indirectly or directly particular and significant places
on the landscape, beyond the boundaries or architecture of
individual towns (Figure 8.2). Public rituals often include the
making of offerings to significant mountain peaks (catego-
rized as apus) in the surrounding mountains, including snow-
capped Qarwarazu to the east of the valley, snow-capped Sara
Sara to the south, and a three-tiered rock formation called
Usjunta on the puna to the west of the valley. On rare oc-
casions offerings are also offered to Coropuna, an immense
snow-capped mountain lying a much greater distance to the
south. These apus are revered by members of multiple com-
munities in the Sondondo Valley and sometimes by groups
in other regions as well. It is notable that these mountains
are not visible from any of the communities within the valley
and can only be seen when one climbs to higher elevations.
The points at which these features become visible as one as-
cends may also be characterized as special places. Along the
old trail from Andamarca to Cabana lies a pair of chapels,
one abandoned, the other recently built, located at the point
at which one can see Qarwarazu. Each shrine is a small
The Wari Empire in Sondondo, Peru
(roughly 3 × 3 meters), single-chambered, roofed structure,
with an open side facing the trail; a Catholic cross hangs on
the back wall of the newer chapel.
In addition to the apus, each contemporary commu-
nity in the Sondondo Valley reveres a particular place on
the landscape that is not shared with other groups; these
places are generally referred to as wamanis. Most of these are
smaller peaks, such as Huachuaycerca (Aucará), Jampatilla
(Huaycahuacho), and Larigoto (Cabana Sur), and each oc-
cupies a prominent position on the landscape as viewed from
its particular community (i.e., those indicated in parenthe-
ses). In the case of the village of Sondondo (which gives its
name to the valley), the place that is revered as significant
is a large cave, high above the village, called Pukamachay
(“red cave”). Unlike the other wamanis, Pukamachay is not
visible from the village that reveres it.
Certain places on the landscape are demarcated by built
stone features. Large piles of accumulated small stones are
found adjacent to major trails leading out of the valley at
high passes along the route; these heaps of stones are called
apachetas. Travelers walking along a trail carry with them a
small stone, which they leave on the apacheta as they pass; it
is said that in so doing one leaves one’s fatigue behind. Other
stone features called saywa mark sacred ground. Saywa are
rather precarious columns of medium-sized stones made by
carefully setting one stone on top of another until the column
attains a height of one to one and a half meters. One cluster
of saywa can be seen near the old Inca road as it ascends out
of the Sondondo Valley toward the southwest; in this case
there are a dozen or more saywa scattered over a low rise.
Several saywa are also present on the highest tier of Usjunta.
Other features on the landscape are defined as huacas,
or places with special meaning. Between the villages of
Huaycahuacho and Ishua is an odd tract of land measuring
about two square kilometers in extent that is relatively level
with a series of small low hills covered with thorn bushes.
Unlike most other tracts of land at moderate elevations within
the valley, none of this zone is under cultivation. According
to local oral traditions, this zone and its atypical appearance
were the result of a major landslide that buried an ancient
city. The source of this landslide can be seen in the sheer
cliffs on the south face of the nearby ridge, although there
are no archaeological traces of a buried city. Within this zone
are a large boulder and a nearby pond, both of which are re-
garded as huacas today, and on the ridge above is an oddly
formed boulder that is revered as a huaca by the residents of
Huaycahuacho.
Proceeding back in time to the 16th century, we have a
wealth of data pertaining to sacred places and objects in this
region available to us. In 1564 or 1565 a Spanish cleric in
Parinacochas, the province immediately to the south of the
137
Sondondo Valley, discovered a nativistic movement called
Taki Onqoy. Roughly translated as “dance sickness,” this
was an indigenous form of rebellion against the Spanish
and in particular the Catholic Church. Beginning in 1570,
the cleric Cristóbal de Albornoz made a series of journeys
through the regions involved in the movement, including the
Sondondo Valley, in an effort to exterminate pagan idolatry
once and for all. He produced a series of reports listing the
practitioners of the cult and their punishments and then listed
many of the places and objects of pagan worship, termed
huacas (Albornoz 1990a, 1990b). He also wrote an essay
explaining how to discover native huacas so that other priests
might carry on the work as needed (Albornoz 1967).
In the case of the valley of the Soras, lying just to the east
of the Sondondo Valley, Albornoz listed some 480 named
sacred places—huacas and pacariscas (origin places; see
Hyslop 1990:107)—along with a summary of some 560
idols of various types (Albornoz 1990b:264–278). In the
case of the Sondondo Valley, then called the province of
Apcara, he provided the total number of huacas (708) but
did not name them nor distinguish between places and idols
(Albornoz 1990b:292–294). If, based on comparison with
Soras, we calculate that at least one-third of these huacas re-
fer to places, then we can conservatively estimate that there
were well over 200 named sacred places in the Sondondo
Valley in the 16th century. Each huaca was owed service,
possessed lands, animals, and clothing, and had a particular
set of sacrifices and offerings that were made to it (Albornoz
1967:20). From this brief summary we can surmise that the
16th-century landscape was alive with meaning, with a mul-
titude of huacas, each playing a role in the ritual life of the
people of Sondondo.
Albornoz’s documents also tell us that the apus revered
today were worshipped in the 16th century and earlier.
Qarwarazu is listed among the huacas of two villages in
the Soras Valley, Usjunta was also worshipped, and Sara
Sara was sacred to the Parinacochas (Albornoz 1967:28–29,
1990b). Apachetas accumulated then much as they do to-
day (Albornoz 1967:19). He also noted that the Incas often
re-edified the major huacas, especially snow-capped peaks
and volcanoes of the western cordillera, providing them with
servants, animals, and gold and silver vessels. In this con-
text he mentioned specifically Sara Sara and several peaks
to the south, including Coropuna and Ampato (Albornoz
1967:20–21). Inca human sacrifices have been located on
the summits of each of these peaks (Reinhard 1992) as has
Inca ritual activity on Coropuna (Reinhard 1999). To date no
investigations have taken place on Qarwarazu, but we might
entertain the possibility that it follows the pattern of the other
snow-capped peaks in the western cordillera and may have
an Inca human sacrifice on its summit.
138
Turning to archaeological investigations of the late pre-
hispanic period in the Sondondo Valley, there is evidence
that the Incas established an imperial presence at Usjunta;
an Inca-style platform of finely cut stone was placed on the
lowest tier of the three-tiered formation. In 2003 another
Inca platform was discovered at Qorihuayrachina, a peak
on the continental divide between Sondondo and the Pa-
cific watershed (Ccencho 2004). Two other Inca features in
the valley may be located relative to meaningful points on
the landscape. A cut-stone platform was placed along the
Inca road adjacent to a natural spring; this platform may
be an usnu, a symbol of Inca power. Usnus were often lo-
cated in proximity to water features such as canals or drains
(Hyslop 1990:100–101). A single Inca building situated
within the local town of Apcara (old Aucará) was placed
next to a very large, prominent stone (Schreiber 1992:92–
98). Stones were often regarded as huacas by the Incas (van
de Guchte 1999:156), and the idiosyncratic form of this un-
worked stone conforms to what van de Guchte has identified
as an “aesthetic of alterity,” being a sort of anomaly in the
natural order (1999:166).
As we continue our way into the pre-Inca past, we can
no longer rely on contemporary observations and historic
documents. Moreover we cannot project what we know of
the recent past directly on the distant past. Rather, we might
attempt to develop some methodologies for discerning what
sorts of places might have been meaningful, even sacred, in
the past. Bradley’s (1993, 1998, 2000) elucidation of mon-
uments and their significance (and not least of all their ar-
chaeological identification) in prehistoric Europe provides
us with some potentially fruitful avenues of inquiry. He
points out that there exist numerous “natural places” on the
landscape, in various cultural contexts, that held particular
significance for people of the distant past (Bradley 2000:35–
36). Such natural places are not construed as monuments
because they are not physically altered by human action, but
they do “have an archaeology because they acquired a signif-
icance in the minds of people in the past” (Bradley 2000:35).
Archaeological evidence of such significance may include
the presence of offerings associated with the place or alter-
ation of nearby areas, including through the use of rock art
(Bradley 2000:37–39). Such places might also be oriented
to local topography, footpaths, cardinal directions, or with
respect to some sort of ritual axis (Tilley 1994:123–136,
159–166).
Over time such natural places might be altered in subtle
(or not so subtle) ways by human activity such that they be-
come monuments, in Bradley’s (2000:104–107) terms. The
construction of a monument alters the ways in which a place
is experienced. Access to the site, as well as movement within
it, may be more constrained; numbers of people using the
Katharina Schreiber
site at any given time may increase or decrease. The creation
of a monument may make a place more visible, in a very lit-
eral sense, or it may add layers of symbolism to an existing
sacred place.
As we have seen in the preceding discussion of huacas
in the Sondondo Valley and its environs, such meaningful
places may be natural places or monuments, using Bradley’s
terms. Both are sacred locations, but monuments are dis-
tinguished by having been modified in some physical sense
by human activity. Unmodified boulders, lakes, mountain
peaks, and even the badlands near Huaycahuacho are consid-
ered huacas locally and would fall into Bradley’s category of
natural places. Monuments include the apachetas and saywa
of the present, Inca platforms situated on sacred peaks, and
the Inca usnu near Apcara. In attempting to identify huacas
in the more distant past I would add several other criteria to
those elaborated by Bradley. First, evidence of repeated use
of a huaca may have significant time depth. That is, while
site locations and settlement patterns may change radically
as a result of changes in political or economic organization
of a region, the veneration of a huaca may transcend or be
immune to such changes. Second, huacas may show artificial
modification in patterned and consistent ways. Third, huacas
may be located in places that have good views of significant
other places or may be placed in prominent locations where
they can be seen from many places and by many people.
Following Bradley (2000:106), significant natural places in
prominent locations may become even more visible when
transformed into monuments. And fourth, huacas may be
marked in some way by later or intrusive groups, or even
empires, as we have seen above in the case of the Incas.
Turning again to archaeological data from the Sondondo
Valley, and considering pre-Inca periods, several features or
sites stand out as having had special significance. Several dis-
tinctively modified boulders have been documented in the
Sondondo Valley and its two southern tributaries. Carved
on these stones are miniature agricultural terraces and/or
water channels (Figure 8.3). Some stones show only water
channels, other only terraces, but some combine both into
elaborate models of agricultural systems. While the carv-
ing of the stones cannot be precisely dated, the association
of these stones with particular sites or places in the valley
suggests that they date to the Late Intermediate Period (LIP)
(A.D. 1000–1476). Six stones are located in or very near to
the town of Apcara, which was occupied through the LIP and
then served as the Inca base of operations in the Late Hori-
zon (A.D. 1476–1532). One stone is located across the valley
adjacent to another LIP site. Three such stones are found
in the Mayobamba tributary of the valley, an area devoid
of occupation until the LIP (Ccencho 2004). Some small
terrace-like carvings in the Negromayo tributary may be
The Wari Empire in Sondondo, Peru
Figure 8.3. A carved boulder, probably a prehispanic huaca, on the east flank of the Sondondo Valley.
associated with the LIP occupation there. The carved boul-
ders are similar in many respects to maquetas (models) stud-
ied by van de Guchte (1990) in Cuzco and virtually identi-
cal to those studied by Brooks (1998) in the Colca Valley;
Brooks (1998:287–292) cogently argues that the maquetas
of Colca date to the LIP.
In addition to these carved boulders and various large
unmodified stones like the one adjacent to the Inca building
at Apcara, there is at least one archaeological site that also
stands out as having had special meaning. The site of Piru-
ruyoq (“place of spindle weights”) is located on the crest of a
ridge that rises gradually up the valley side; above the site the
ridge rises precipitously to a major promontory called Tuqsa.
Piruruyoq is a roughly circular mound with stone retaining
walls around portions of its perimeter (Figure 8.4). This site
appears to be a natural hill modified by human efforts giv-
ing it a somewhat stepped profile. There are traces of curved
walls and perhaps one or more tombs on its summit. There is
no evidence of domestic architecture at the site. The site was
recorded in 1981 during my regional survey of Sondondo
(Schreiber 1992) and again in 1991 by archaeologist José
139
Ccencho (1991); we were both struck by the unique features
of the site.
In a flat area just below the south flank of the mound
the excavation of an irrigation ditch has exposed a dense de-
posit of ceramics, lithics, ash, and bone. The artifacts range
in style from the earliest to the latest ceramic periods; we
find it significant that this is the only site in the valley at
which ceramic artifacts of all prehispanic periods are found.
It is possible that the artifacts are the result of offerings of
smashed ceramic vessels being made at the site. However,
the presence of lithics along with ash and bone suggests that
food was prepared and consumed at the site. I suspect that
ritual feasting activities took place at this site repeatedly over
the years.
The unique nature of this site, considering its form, lack
of domestic architecture, and evidence of repeated ritual use
over many centuries, if not millennia, is evidence that it
carried some special meaning (see Bradley 2000:37) and
served as a local shrine of some sort. But what was the na-
ture or source of its special meaning? Here I consider three
possibilities. First, the site itself may have been considered
140
Figure 8.4. The site of Piruruyoq seen from above, along the trail to Tuqsa. Note the circular plan and traces of architecture on the
summit of the mound. The site of Leqles Pata can be seen in the distance, as can the trail the follows the crest of the ridge.
intrinsically sacred. It may have begun its sacred life as a
revered natural place, later modified in shape with the cre-
ation of a stepped profile and the addition of perimeter re-
taining walls.
Second, the location of the site with respect to views
of other sacred places may have imbued it with meaning
(Figure 8.5). The site is located on a ridge with clear views
to the north, west, and south. It overlooks the odd tract of
land said to have resulted from a landslide, discussed above,
as well as the boulder and lake that are regarded as huacas
today. Also visible from Piruruyoq, and located farther down
the same ridge, is the oddly formed boulder revered today as
a huaca.
A third possibility is that Piruruyoq is not a sacred site in
and of itself but rather a monument to another sacred place
farther up the same ridge: Tuqsa. When viewed from the
north or south, Tuqsa appears simply as a high flat ridge that
suddenly drops off steeply to the west. However, viewed
from the west, Tuqsa is a prominent high, pointed peak
(Figure 8.6). From any point on the ridge below, including
from Piruruyoq, Tuqsa maintains this imposing profile. On
what appears from below to be its summit are two large ovoid
Katharina Schreiber
raised platforms, encircled by retaining walls and separated
by a depression; 120 meters to the east, occupying the rest
of the ridge above this point, is a large defensive LIP site.
The raised platforms may be associated with that site and
thus LIP in date. However, a collection of surface artifacts
on and around the platforms yielded ceramics dating to the
Middle Horizon and earlier, suggesting that the Tuqsa plat-
forms formed part of the cultural landscape in those earlier
times. Tuqsa has the earmarkings of a shrine or huaca.
To reach Piruruyoq from the valley below, one follows
a well-marked trail along the crest of the ridge; the trail
curves around the south side of the site. The site can also
be reached by climbing the steeper north side of the ridge,
although no trails ascend this side in the direction of the
site; the southern flank of the ridge is too steep to climb in
most places. Above Piruruyoq the ridge rises precipitously
and one begins a painfully steep climb to reach the summit at
Tuqsa. The only way to climb to Tuqsa is to follow this ridge,
and one cannot make the ascent without passing adjacent to
Piruruyoq. The positioning of Piruruyoq may have trans-
formed access to Tuqsa, changing and restructuring the
movement of people and so altering the character of the
The Wari Empire in Sondondo, Peru
Figure 8.5. The Sondondo Valley with Wari sites and other places mentioned in the text.
experience (see Bradley 2000:104). Feasting activities at
Piruruyoq may have been part of the rituals involved in mak-
ing a procession to Tuqsa.
Regardless of which of these interpretations, if any, ex-
plains the special nature of Piruruyoq, it is clear to me that
it was an important place within the sacred landscape of the
Sondondo Valley, a local shrine of sorts, and that it main-
tained this role for a very long time.
How Are Imperial Ideologies Materially Expressed in
Conquered Territories?
For the conquered, imperial expansion generally results
in the imposition of new political and economic structures,
and the propagation of a state ideology is one way for an em-
pire to legitimize and maintain these new hierarchies. Those
in power must devise a means of communicating their ide-
141
ology to a large audience, and it has been proposed that
one of the most effective ways to do so is to give ideolo-
gies concrete form—that is, to materialize them (DeMarrais
et al. 1996). Ceremonies or rituals, symbolic objects, iconog-
raphy, and writing can all convey ideological information,
providing leaders with an effective suite of tools for broad-
casting and legitimizing social power. The manipulation of
symbols and ceremonial activities is an important element
of the maintenance of ideology and the expression of power
(e.g., Brumfiel 1998). When examining the expression of
imperial ideologies in conquered territories, a number of
categories of material culture, including ritual architecture,
iconography, portable sacred objects, and site location, must
be considered.
In some instances, objects sacred to a conquered people
may be brought to the imperial capital. While this might
serve to integrate the rituals of provincial areas into imperial
142
Figure 8.6. Photograph of Tuqsa, viewed from below, showing imposing profile.
practices, it can also be seen as an act of hostage-taking,
compelling conquered groups to submit to imperial control.
Although we have no direct evidence of such a practice in
the case of Wari, we do know from documentary sources
that the Incas appropriated sacred objects from conquered
groups and removed them to Cuzco (Cobo 1990:7).
Wari iconography often communicates information
about hierarchy, both sacred and secular, and ideologically
imbued images disseminated to provincial areas could serve
as both models for and sanctions of Wari government (Isbell
and Cook 1987). Moreover, iconography can help to mark the
political boundaries of the empire and to mask earlier stylis-
tic affiliations (Cook 1983). The adoption of the imperial
iconographic pantheon in provincial areas under Wari con-
trol suggests that ideology was being used to integrate these
areas (Cook 1987). There is ample evidence for the distribu-
tion of Wari imperial iconography in the form of portable me-
dia, especially ceramics and textiles (see Schreiber 2001:92).
Ritual architecture, as a materialized manifestation of
ritual practice, can provide information about ideology and
the nature of social power (Moore 1996). In the case of the
Katharina Schreiber
Wari, the replication in conquered areas of the ritual features
known from the heartland of the empire is likely an indication
that ideology was being used to bring those areas under state
authority. D-shaped temples have been identified at Huari
and at sites in its immediate environs, including Conchopata
and Ñawimpuquio. Outside the Wari heartland they have
been identified in a number of regions subsumed under Wari
imperial control: sites with D-shaped temples include Honco
Pampa in the north, Yako in the Soras Valley just to the east of
the Sondondo Valley, and Cerro Baúl in the far south (Cook
2001:150–154).
In the case of the Sondondo Valley (Schreiber 1992),
five Wari sites have been identified to date,3 four of which
seem to have played roles in the political dominance of
the valley and its economic reorganization (see Figure 8.5).
Jincamocco, centrally located and built first, probably served
as a regional capital. A secondary political center is found at
the site of Era Mocco, to the north. At the northeast extreme
of the valley, where a major road enters from the north, lies
the site of Mamacha Corral4 ; this site may have been placed
to control access into and out of the valley and perhaps to
The Wari Empire in Sondondo, Peru
exploit the small Jampatilla obsidian source located near the
site. On the east side of the valley, across from Jincamocco,
is the site of Culluma, which probably served to store agri-
cultural produce. Middle Horizon ceramics of Wari and local
styles have been found at all these sites, and excavations at
Jincamocco have produced ceramics with images of a Wari
iconography.
Jincamocco, a 3.5-hectare rectangular enclosure, fol-
lows the same canons as the compounds at Huari, and I
argue that this imperial style can be characterized as an ar-
chitecture of power. There are very few entrances to the
probably multistoried enclosure at Jincamocco, and once
inside one must take a circuitous route, blindly following
long corridors, to reach open spaces and patio activity areas
(Schreiber 1978). The sites of Era Mocco, Mamacha Corral,
and Culluma also appear to be built in this style, although
their current state of preservation precludes mapping them in
detail. Wari architecture is a complete departure from local
Sondondo-style architecture, which consists of single-unit
round houses. Wari architecture is thus distinguished by its
form, control of movement into and within the complex, and
imposing nature, and I would argue that it forms one material
element of Wari ideology in conquered territories.
A fifth site, Leqles Pata,5 is distinguished from the other
Wari sites by virtue of unique aspects of its architecture and
its location (Figure 8.7). Like the other sites in this valley, it
appears to have a compound built in Wari style, although this
compound is by far the smallest, measuring only 30 × 50
meters. However, unlike the other sites, traces of Wari ritual
architecture, in the form of at least two D-shaped temples and
three or more stone slab tombs, have been identified at this
site. To date no such stone slab tombs have been located at
any other Wari provincial sites, although there are a number
of them at Huari, as discussed above. The presence of these
tombs at Leqles Pata has led Isbell to suggest that the site
might be “the estate of a Huari monarch whose relatives were
eventually buried there” (2004:18). Such an interpretation,
based solely on the presence of the stone slab tombs, must be
approached cautiously, considering our current knowledge
of Wari provincial occupations. At present we cannot discern
any pattern in the location or context of such structures in the
provinces, since they only occur at a single site; additionally,
there is yet no evidence that Wari monarchs had royal estates
like their later Inca counterparts.
When we consider this site in its spatial and cultural
context in the Sondondo Valley I think we can arrive at a
more tenable interpretation. Temples and tombs have not
been identified at any of the other Wari sites in this valley, al-
though a Colonial Period document reports stone slab tombs
near Jincamocco. Leqles Pata is unique among the Wari sites
in this valley by virtue of its ritual architecture, and its inter-
143
pretation necessarily moves beyond aspects of Wari political
and economic power. It is clear to me that it played a role in
the ritual life of this valley in ways that the other four sites
did not. Moreover, its location with respect to Piruruyoq and
Tuqsa may be especially significant, reinforcing the posited
ritual nature of the site, as I will discuss below.
How Are Local Belief Systems Affected by Imperial
Conquest?
Imperial ideologies and rituals must be conceived so
as to work in concert with existing beliefs and prac-
tices (Carneiro 1992), which, consequently, are frequently
co-opted or transformed to meet the needs of the state
(Conrad 1992; Joyce 1997). It is clear that conquest often
results in changes in local belief systems, but the changes
brought about by imperial occupation may take a variety of
forms. An empire may attempt to suppress or eliminate lo-
cal beliefs, it may co-opt local beliefs, or it may incorporate
local beliefs into imperial ideologies.
Given the potential power inherent in local belief sys-
tems, an empire may deem it necessary to suppress them or
to attempt to eliminate them altogether. If certain beliefs or
practices are threatening to or inconsistent with those of the
empire, they might have to be eliminated completely. Such a
strategy also would permit an empire to standardize behavior
across its territory and to give a common ritual vocabulary
to newly conquered groups with differing and potentially
conflicting beliefs.
Eradicating local practices and beliefs and replacing
them with new ones can be a costly strategy, in both eco-
nomic and social terms. An empire might choose instead
to co-opt existing local beliefs and to manipulate them for
their own benefit. This would permit an empire to take ad-
vantage of the legitimizing power of traditional beliefs while
lessening the imperial investment required to establish con-
trol. At Ingapirca in Ecuador, for example, a large boulder
that may have been sacred to the Cañari was encapsulated
by a major Inca construction, suggesting to Dennis Ogburn
(personal communication, 2004) that the Incas may have
been co-opting an existing Cañari shrine.
Many researchers have noted that states commonly
appropriate or manipulate the deities, beliefs, and ritual
practices of conquered populations (e.g., Conrad 1992;
Joyce 1997; Sinopoli 1994). Previous research on empires,
and on the Wari Empire in particular, has established that
existing political and economic structures in the area of
conquest were frequently co-opted by the empire (Schreiber
1987, 1992, 2001), and we might expect that belief systems
would have been subject to a similar strategy of co-option.
144
Figure 8.7. Photograph of Leqles Pata, taken from above. The Wari compound and the locations of D-shaped temples and stone slab
tombs are noted.
As the Wari conquered new territory, local practices were
often adjusted to suit the imperial agenda (Cook 2001;
Lumbreras 1974).
Returning to the Sondondo Valley and to the ridge on
which Piruruyoq is located, we find that Leqles Pata is also
located on the same ridge, along the trail that ascends the
crest of the ridge, and that the sites are positioned within
sight of each other (see Figure 8.4). The simple presence of
ritual architecture at Leqles Pata may suggest that the Wari
placed their constructions on a meaningful place or huaca.
It may have been an existing huaca that Wari co-opted, or
the Wari may have newly defined this place as sacred. Al-
ternatively, we might regard the spatial relationship between
Piruruyoq and Leqles Pata as representing not just the phys-
ical articulation of two places but also the articulation of a
Wari imperial ideology with the local belief system. Like
Piruruyoq, Leqles Pata has an excellent view of Tuqsa, as
well as of huacas below, so in one sense it mimics the set-
ting of the local shrine. Perhaps Wari was simply sharing
in the use of a local sacred landscape, adopting local belief
systems.
Katharina Schreiber
I suspect, however, that the establishment of Leqles Pata
in this location was intended to disrupt or alter the indige-
nous use of their sacred landscape. The ritual experience of
using the shrine at Piruruyoq would have included not just
feasting activities and perhaps the making of offerings there
but also the ascent and descent of the ridge by groups of
people. The presence of Leqles Pata on the ridge below the
shrine thus significantly altered the experiential nature of the
ritual use of the shrine. In order to reach Piruruyoq from the
valley below one ascends a long trail along the spine of the
ridge, a trek of a little less than one hour. Ascending from
Piruruyoq to Tuqsa requires at least another hour or so. Af-
ter the establishment of the Wari site at Leqles Pata, about
15 minutes from Piruruyoq, individuals had to pass through
the Wari site to reach either Piruruyoq or Tuqsa. While the
Wari site did not block access to those sites, as evidenced
by the presence of Middle Horizon local ceramics at both
sites, it may have delayed or detoured peoples’ ascent of
the ridge. The need to pass through the imperial site might
have been intended to send the message to the people that
their activities, even religious activities, were subject to the
The Wari Empire in Sondondo, Peru
control of the empire. As Cooney (1994:33) notes, the con-
trol of sacred actions may be a key component of social
power, and I believe that this is just such a case.
How Do Imperial Ideological Strategies Change in
Conquered Territories?
Strategies of control and the imposition of economic,
political, and ideological power change along two dimen-
sions, temporal and spatial. As Cobo states, regarding the
case of the Incas, “from the beginning of their empire the
Incas were not always steadfast in their religion, nor did
they maintain the same opinions and worship the same
gods. . . . They were prompted to make . . . changes because
they realized that in this way they improved their control
over the kingdom and kept it more subservient” (1990:5).
Most empires vary their strategies of conquest and con-
trol as they are faced with different problems in different
parts of the empire, and resulting forms of political and eco-
nomic control are tailored to specific local circumstances
(Schreiber 1987, 1992). Although imperial ideologies may
be imposed with little modification, it is also possible that
their ideological strategies change as empires expand into
conquered territories, much like their political and economic
strategies. Ideological forms of power may have been modi-
fied to accommodate, incorporate, or eliminate local beliefs,
depending on local circumstances.
Paralleling arguments I have made before regarding po-
litical hierarchies, an imperial ideology may simply be im-
posed wholesale, with no alteration. In this case, the imperial
ideology would not undergo any formal change at all. If an
empire chooses to co-opt local beliefs, however, the imperial
ideology as well as the local belief system might be subject
to some degree of modification or transformation. As lo-
cal and imperial beliefs articulate, imperial ideology might
change to incorporate the new belief systems of conquered
areas. As the Incas conquered new groups, for example, they
incorporated important local places and landscapes into the
sacred geography of the empire (Niles 1992).
Imperial ideologies might also be added to the local
belief system. Local belief systems may have been insuffi-
ciently institutionalized to be a significant challenge to im-
perial control, and these local practices may simply have
been supplemented with the ideology of the empire. In the
Andes, for example, the Incas allowed conquered groups to
continue to worship their own deities but required that the
Inca god be placed at the apex of the pantheon (Van Buren
2000).
In turn, imperial strategies may be modified to address
specific local circumstances and practices unique to the peo-
145
ple of conquered provinces. For example, in the Inca case,
in southern Peru the Incas co-opted the sacred snow-capped
peaks by placing their own human sacrificial offerings on the
summit of each one (Reinhard 1992). An empire may reinter-
pret the local landscape in its own (imperial) terms, as well
as exploit the ways in which it differs from region to region.
Certain landscapes or landscape features may be considered
special, and empires may seek out those places. Spiritual or
ideological power may be thought to exist at certain places
on the landscape, and control of those places may allow lead-
ers to capture that power and to use it to legitimize their own
authority (Allsen 1996; Arnold 2002). The Incas considered
certain natural features, including mountains, rock forma-
tions, and springs, to be sacred, and they often placed their
sites near these places (Hyslop 1990:125–128, 142–145; van
de Guchte 1999). As we have seen above, in the Sondondo
Valley we find cut-stone platforms on or near sacred peaks,
an usnu platform near a natural spring, and an Inca building
placed adjacent to a unique rock formation. These are con-
structions adapted to unique and specific places in the local
landscape.
Given these examples it seems entirely likely that the
Wari adapted forms of ideological control to specific situa-
tions, much as they did their exercise of political and eco-
nomic power. Once we have availed ourselves of suitable
data from other provincial contexts we may be able to begin
to address this question more directly.
How Can Local Belief Systems Be Used as a Form of
Resistance to Imperial Control?
At present I do not believe that we have enough data on
local belief systems to be able to suggest how they might have
been used as a form of resistance to Wari control, although I
have great hopes that we may be able to begin to address this
issue in the future. But rather than leave this question com-
pletely unanswered, I would like to return to the Taki Onqoy
movement of the 16th century in the Sondondo Valley.
Taki Onqoy presents us with a clear case of native re-
sistance against Spanish rule using elements of local be-
lief systems (Millones 1990). After the successful capture
of the Inca emperor in 1532 and the subsequent collapse
of much of the Inca Empire, the Spanish found themselves
by the second half of the 16th century faced with overt,
physical resistance on the part of the remaining Incas in the
Vilcabamba region north of Cuzco. The Spanish perceived
this as a military threat and responded accordingly. Unbe-
knownst to them, however, there was a very different kind
of rebellion brewing in what are today parts of southern
Ayacucho and adjacent provinces, including the Sondondo
146
Valley. Practitioners of the Taki Onqoy movement (many of
whom were women) were mobilizing the ancient Andean
huacas to wage war with the Christian god. Through ritu-
als involving trances, speaking in tongues, and wild dancing
(which gives the movement its name: dance sickness), the
huacas spoke to the people and prepared to fight the Chris-
tian god. Here we are confronted with a clear case of the use
of local ideological beliefs to resist imperial control.
This movement came as quite a surprise to the Spanish
when it was discovered in the 1560s, as they were unfamiliar
with the waging of wars on a supernatural level. They put
a stop to it and then sent the cleric Cristóbal de Albornoz
to root out any last traces of the cult, to severely punish all
its practitioners, and to document all the objects and places
that still had sacred meaning to the people (Albornoz 1990a,
1990b), as I have discussed above. It is Albornoz’s written
record, including his lists of sacred places and objects, that
provides us with some of our best clues to reconstructing
local Andean belief systems. I find it somewhat ironic that
these useful data are the result of the efforts of an imperial
society in responding to indigenous ideological resistance
and its efforts to eliminate local belief systems.
Conclusions
In this chapter I have argued that it is useful to move
beyond considerations of economic and political forms of
power in order to arrive at a sense of some of the ways
that ideology forms a basis for relations of power in impe-
rial settings. I have used contemporary observations, his-
toric documents, and archaeological remains to try to recon-
struct and understand features of the sacred landscape of the
Sondondo Valley at different points in time. I concluded in
earlier publications regarding the Wari Empire’s conquest
of the Sondondo Valley that they expended great efforts to
establish a political hierarchy in the valley and reorganize
economic production (Schreiber 1987, 1992). This chapter
has moved in a different direction, considering the articu-
lation between Wari ideology and local belief systems. An
anomalous Wari site, Leqles Pata, seems to have been lo-
cated with respect to one or two local shrines in such a way
that it impeded access to those local sacred places. I have
argued, based on these data, that the Wari used ideological
power as a means to control the local populace, much as
it used forms of political and economic control. Wari did
indeed “mess with people’s minds.”
Acknowledgments
The original draft of this paper, prepared for presen-
tation at the AAA meetings in New Orleans in 2002, was
Katharina Schreiber
the result of a collaboration between myself and one of my
graduate students, Jade Gibson. Jade also presented the pa-
per in that venue. All subsequent drafts and revisions have
been my responsibility alone, and the final result bears only
passing resemblance to the original. I wish to thank Jade
for her efforts and her useful input as I was thinking about
some of the ideas presented here; however, all comments
or criticisms should be directed to me. Figures 8.1 and 8.5
are based on maps originally drawn by David Lawson of the
Anthropology Graphics Laboratory at UCSB. I also thank
Drs. Christina Conlee, Dennis Ogburn, and Kevin Vaughn
for inviting me to participate in the symposium that led to
the creation of this volume and for their exceptional levels of
professionalism in creating the final product. It was an inter-
esting turn of events, as they all were once my own students,
and so we found our roles reversed in some interesting ways;
I do appreciate the extreme gentleness of their prodding as
deadlines neared. I thank the AP3A review committee, Jay
Johnson, the series editor, and especially Dennis Ogburn for
their useful comments on an earlier draft of this chapter; the
final product has certainly benefited from their collective
wisdom. Many of the ideas presented here were developed
while I was on a year’s sabbatical in Santa Fe, and I must ac-
knowledge my boon companions of that year, Lynn Meskell
and Norm Yoffee, and thank them for many hours of fruitful
discussions. I would also like to thank the Department of
Anthropology at the University of New Mexico for appoint-
ing me as adjunct faculty for the 2002–03 academic year, thus
providing me with access to many useful resources there.
Notes
1. In this chapter I use the spelling “Huari” to refer to
the site and “Wari” to refer to the culture and empire.
2. Prior to about 2000 I referred to the Sondondo Valley
in publications as the Carhuarazo or Carahuarazo Valley.
In about 2000 the valley was officially dubbed the valle de
Sondondo, so I follow this usage here.
3. José Ccencho and I have recently extended the survey
into the three main tributaries of the Sondondo Valley. No
additional Wari sites were located in any of these tributaries.
4. This site was called Willkaya in Schreiber 1992.
5. This site was called Anta in Schreiber 1992.
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